Restoration
by The Urban Spaceman
Summary: The war is over. The Dominion, defeated by the combined forces of the Alliance, has retreated to the Gamma Quadrant, leaving behind a war-ravaged Alpha Quadrant. After two years of Dominion occupation, Cardassia stands on the brink of destruction. The once-strong empire needs a leader to unite the disgruntled factions. Its people need more than a man; they need a symbol. A Hero.
1. Arrival

_Author's Note: This story follows the events of my one-shot, Hero, which is actually the first chapter. If you haven't read Hero yet, you should go do that first. As for the disclaimer stuff; some of these characters are mine, and some aren't. Some of the DS9 crew will be making cameos, too. Hope you enjoy this story. It will be updating every Wednesday.  
_

* * *

Restoration

_1. Arrival_

Virginia Fox fastened her luggage bag and looked around the room. It was bare once more, its décor muted tones of grey and blue. For the past ten days it had been her home, and it had become familiar to her. Now she was leaving, spreading her wings, stepping out of the shadow of her family, going it alone. So to speak.

"Ambassador Fox," said Captain Coleman over the intercom, "I just thought you'd like to know that we're approaching the planet. ETA five minutes."

"Thank you, Captain," she replied, "I'll be on the bridge shortly."

Before she left the room, she took a look at herself in the full-length mirror. What to wear had been a tricky decision. She didn't want to flout wealth, which might appear condescending, shallow and arrogant, but nor did she want to dress plainly, because that would not impress. In the end she had settled on a snug-fitting suit of dark blue, with black and purple slashes across the shirt. Her black boots had been polished until they shone, and she had tied back her long, wavy brown hair, taming it into some semblance of order.

Feeling ready to meet her future, she left the bedroom and stepped out into the corridor. A passing ensign—his gold uniform indicating he was a member of security or engineering—nodded at her in greeting, and she returned the gesture before setting out towards the bridge. The USS Copenhagen was a small oberth-class science vessel with a compliment of forty crew—it had been eighty, before the war—and Virginia, who only ever thought of herself as 'Gin', had learnt how to navigate its corridors after two days confined aboard at warp-speed.

As she stepped into the turbo-lift, she once again considered how fortunate she was to be given this chance. Usually, a junior ambassador, only recently graduated, would expect to be given an assignment on some small Federation planet for a few years, before progressing to something more important. But Virginia Fox had so impressed her lecturers and observers in the diplomatic corps that they had had no qualms about accepting her request. Admittedly, the death toll during the war had been terrible, affecting not only Starfleet soldiers but also civilians and Federation officials—amongst them, many high-ranking diplomats—and as a result, the pool of ambassadors to choose from was woefully low. Federation resources were stretched thin. Betazed was not the only Federation world to have been attacked by the Dominion, but it was the one which had been occupied the longest. There was a huge relief effort underway, which extended not only to Betazed, but to Benzar, Coridan and even to non-member worlds, such as Angosia and Bynaus.

When the lift stopped and admitted her onto the bridge, only one or two of the crew gave her any notice. The majority went about their tasks, ensuring smooth-running of the ship. She stopped beside the Captain's chair, and he gave her a quick smile. She had dined with him during her first evening aboard, as was befitting an ambassador, and found him to be a pleasant man, chatty and reliable. He'd already retired once, only to sign up for command again when the war with the Dominion broke out, and now he was happy to ferry around diplomats and cargo.

"You're just in time, Ambassador," he said. "Bates, put it on the viewer."

The helmsman complied, and the viewscreen sprang to life. There, right in the middle of it, was the planet, a swirling maelstrom of red, blue and grey, with dozens of gold and silver ships in orbit. Gin stepped forward – as if _that_ would give her a better view and bring her closer to it.

"Not a patch on Earth, if you ask me," said Coleman. "You sure you don't want to change your mind, Ambassador? I hear things are pretty dire down there, and I'm not just talking about the heat."

"Quite sure, Captain," she replied. "I'm looking forward to the challenge."

The Captain shook his head, no doubt in disbelief. "Well, rather you than me. But do me a favour? Watch your back. We've got Starfleet personnel down on the planet, but they're mostly out in the sticks, trying to keep order and help rebuild infrastructure in some of the larger towns. For the most part, you'll be on your own in the capital. As much as we'd like to give you a full staff, we've nobody to spare right now."

"I understand, Captain. And I'm well prepared." Indeed, it felt as if she had been preparing for this for years, even though she'd only been given the assignment two weeks ago. She'd spent the past ten days researching everything she could get her hands on, including personnel reports, historical documents, technical specifications, literature and music.

"Alright. Well, we've had your transporter co-ordinates sent to us, and you're to be met by one of the potential future leaders, so I suppose you'll be in good hands. Please advise the Cardassians that we'll beam down our relief supplies before leaving orbit, and that the USS Ribble will be along in another two weeks with more supplies. "

"Thank you, Captain, for a swift and pleasant journey."

"The pleasure was all mine," he said, standing and shaking her hand. "Good luck, Ambassador. What you've signed up for is no easy task. Ensign Brill, please escort Ambassador Fox to the transporter room."

"Aye, sir," said the Andorian junior science officer.

In truth, she did not need an escort; having studied and memorised the layout of the ship, she knew where it was, but no doubt the Captain wanted to give her the best send-off his under-staffed ship could provide. The door to the transporter room swished open and Brill gestured for her to step on to the transporter pad. When she complied, the science officer energised the matter stream, and the last she saw of the Federation was Brill's blue face as he beamed her down to the planet's surface.

o - o - o - o - o

When Gin rematerialised, the first thing she realised was that her luggage was already waiting for her; the Copenhagen's crew must have beamed it down. After checking both large bags were present, she looked around the room she had appeared in; it was mostly empty, containing only a single desk with blank consoles, and two chairs. Other consoles, set into the wall, were likewise inoperable, and the air felt unnaturally hot.

The door opened, and a Cardassian man stepped inside, a smile fixed on his face. She recognised him immediately from the report Starfleet had compiled on him, but waited for him to make the first move. If he was the 'potential future leader' of the planet, then she would have to tread carefully with him.

"Ambassador Fox, I presume?" he asked.

"That's correct," she said, with a small bow of her head. "Thank you for meeting me."

"No problem at all. My name is Elim Garak." He spread out his arms, gesturing to the room. "Welcome to Cardassia. Oh, and please excuse the heat, one of the emergency generators is malfunctioning… even we Cardassians prefer the temperature a little cooler than this."

"No need to apologise, I know that these are difficult times for the Cardassian people. Is this to be my office?" she asked, glancing at the desk.

"Ah, no," said Garak. The smile on his face was quite at odd with his eyes, which were cold and blue, like two chips of ice set in a stone wall. "This building is the official residence of the Cardassian government… or at least, the government we're trying to form. The Embassy building we've assigned for you is but a short walk away. Can I help with your bags?"

"Thank you, I'd appreciate that." She picked up one of her bags, gave the other to him, and let him escort her from the room. Whatever building this was, it seemed to be largely intact. There were scorch-marks on some of the walls, which she surmised were from phaser-fire, but very little structural damage.

They walked in silence, the man, Garak, letting her look around freely as they walked the halls. Several times, tall Cardassian men, and only marginally shorter women, passed them in the corridor. Most of them offered a mere word of greeting to Garak, and completely ignored Gin. It made her feel small, unimportant, but she did her best to shake off those feelings. These people had better things to worry about than a Federation diplomat. She couldn't expect miracles – they would have to warm up to her in time.

"May I ask what your title is, Mr Garak?" she asked.

"Oh, it's just Garak," he smiled. "Plain, simple Garak. No titles."

"Really? I've read Starfleet's file on you... from what I've read, I'd say you're anything _but_ plain and simple."

"Oh?" His voice was full of feigned surprise. "And what exactly did Starfleet have to say about me?"

"That you're the son of Enabran Tain. That you're a former operative of the Obsidian Order. That you were exiled by Gul Dukat following the occupation of Bajor, and you spent the next few years of your life on Deep Space Nine... or Terok Nor, if you prefer to call it that. I'm aware of every mission you've been on, everything you've done and said whilst working for the Federation... I'm sure that much was missing from the file, but I know enough to be aware that you appear as you wish to be seen, and never show all the cards in your hand."

"Well, I can't say that it sounds like much of a riveting read. And I'm sure much of it is pure speculation. I must say, though, that I'm not used to such blatant honesty from diplomats."

"I'm not here to bandy words, Mr Garak," she said firmly, "and I'm not here to play games. I have a job to do, and I intend to do it to the best of my abilities."

"I can assure you, Ambassador, that _nobody_ is playing games on Cardassia right now."

He stopped at a door in front of him and pressed the entry button, stepping outside into the sunlight when it opened. Gin took a step to follow him, then stopped dead in her tracks.

"My god," she whispered, looking around at the ruins of the once-proud capital city. Only the buildings around this compound were unscathed; the rest had been reduced to rubble, and those that were still standing looked like they probably wouldn't be for very long. There was no smoke, the fires had long since been extinguished, but the sheer amount of devastation took her breath away. Further down the street, two members of the Cardassian military were guarding a huge water butt, whilst a long line of dusty men, women and children queued in front of it. There was defeat in their faces, and disbelief. Half of them looked as if their minds were elsewhere, in a dream of some better place and time.

"Oh, I don't think _any_ gods had anything to do with this," Garak quipped. "Unless you truly believe that the Changelings are gods. Personally, I don't. Hell-bent on galactic domination, perhaps, but not gods. Anyway, shall we continue?"

She nodded mutely, unable to bring herself to speak, and he set off down the street. It had been over a month since the Dominion's withdrawal from Cardassia, and it seemed that nothing had been fixed. Water and power supplies appeared to be severely disrupted, and the few working replicators she saw had huge lines of people queuing outside them. The sight of them reminded her of something.

"Captain Coleman of the Copenhagen asked me to advise you that he's beaming down supplies, and that another ship will be along in two weeks with more. We brought power generators, food replicators, blankets, medical equipment—"

"I'm sure our people will be thoroughly checking the inventory," he interrupted, as if the supplies were of no consequence. "Whatever you have brought, we are deeply grateful for. But whatever you have brought... it will not be enough. The death toll when the Dominion left was about eight-hundred million. Now it's closer to nine. Disease and dehydration kill more every day, and very soon, starvation will add to the toll. Here in the capital city, we're fortunate. Our population—what's left of it—is close together. Getting aid to the people isn't too hard, and families and neighbourhoods work together to ensure nobody goes without. The same can't be said for every city, or every town, or even every village. The one saving grace is that our meagre farmlands were not destroyed during the Dominion's onslaught... but harvesting season is still months away, and food storage facilities across the planet have been destroyed."

Gin bit her lip, relying on the pain to keep back the tears that pricked at her eyes. Nothing could have prepared her for this. The scale of destruction was astronomical. "I'll contact the Federation, ask them to speed up their shipments of supplies," she promised him.

That cold smile returned to his lips. "I'm sure you'll do all that you can. Please, if you'll just step this way..."

He led her to a building several streets away, and gestured to the front of it. Like the others, it was made from a reddish stone with a grey and gold façade; common colours on Cardassia, it seemed.

"This was the home of a very influential member of the Cardassian Central Command, before the Dominion were invited in," Garak explained. "The Gul in question found it... prudent... to relocate, and the building, I'm informed, has been unoccupied ever since. This is to be the Federation embassy. You must excuse the poor state of the building, and the rather sparse furnishings inside. Although we were advised of your arrival here, we've had rather a lot to contend with."

"I can assure you, Mr Garak, I'm perfectly capable and willing to 'rough it' for as long as necessary. Of course, your first concern must be your own people. Rest assured, I will have no complaints."

"Wonderful. Though I think you'll find the situation is not as rough as you might fear. We've managed to acquire you a portable generator, and the building has a fully functioning replicator... you'll just need to hook it up whenever you need to use it. I'm afraid, however, that we haven't had time to program it with any Human food. You'll find it fully capable of producing many Cardassian foods, and also some Bajoran dishes. Well, shall we go inside?"

"Please," she nodded.

He climbed the shallow steps and opened the door, stepping inside. Any hopes she'd held that it would be cooler inside the building quickly fled her mind; it was just as warm in here as it was outside. She could already feel the perspiration forming on her skin. Was it going to be this miserably hot the whole year? Garak seemed to pick up on her thoughts.

"I'm afraid the shower facilities are inoperable at the moment. Until we re-establish the water supply to the city, it's being rationed. Drinking only. We estimate it will take another week for the water pipes to be repaired, but if it helps, there is a stream about four kilometres outside the city. Some of our people go there to bathe, and I'm sure they wouldn't object to you doing the same."

"I'll keep that in mind," she nodded. She had no doubt that some diplomats would recoil at the very idea of bathing in a stream, but Gin was under no illusions. If she had to bathe outside and eat Cardassian food, she would bathe outside and eat Cardassian food. It would be just like the time she had gone camping as a child, except now she wasn't alone in the wilderness with only her father and brother for company, and she didn't have to use a hole in the ground as a toilet. And whilst it was true that half a dozen Federation ships were in the system, patrolling for pirates and opportunistic looters, and she could easily beam aboard any of the ships and request to use their shower and replicator facilities, she was determined _not_ to do that. It would be cheating. The Cardassians had no such luxuries, and if she wanted their respect, she had to show them that she was willing to suffer any hardship that they were suffering.

The room they entered was large and spacious, with two curved staircases sweeping up and back towards a balcony. It was also immediately obvious that they were not alone. Standing in the middle of the entrance hall was a second Cardassian man. Unlike Garak, he was wearing the metallic grey and black uniform of a military officer, and there was a peppering of dark grey in his sleek black hair. His posture was stiff, his arms held behind his back, and his feet planted wide apart. It was a confident, aggressive pose, and it immediately made Gin feel defensive.

"Why, Gul Amaro," Garak said, with his false smile, "what a surprise to see you here."

"A surprise?" Gul Amaro asked, the beginning of a condescending sneer tugging at his lips. His voice was deep and gruff, the polar opposite of Garak's smooth, silken voice. "Do you think you're the only one who has the right to speak to our new Federation overseer?"

"Quite the contrary, but as I recall, it was only yesterday you were complaining about having to... what was the term you used... pander to a soft Federation master?"

"Excuse me," Gin said, stepping forward between the men who had apparently forgotten her amidst their hostility. "I am not here as an overseer, nor as a master. I am the Federation ambassador to Cardassia. In the short term, it is my job to co-ordinate relief efforts and keep your people apprised of Federation activities within this sector. In the long term, I hope to establish diplomatic relations between your people and mine. If this arrangement is unsuitable and you wish me gone, we can always ask the Klingons to provide relief instead. Perhaps you would rather deal with Klingon dignitaries."

"At least Klingon dignitaries would be _honest_ about their intentions to oppress us," Amaro growled. He turned his brown eyes to Gin, looking her over and apparently finding her wanting. The condescending sneer on his face only grew. "I know the _real_ reason why you're here. You want to change us. Corrupt our society. Make us more like the Federation. You want us to replace Bajor as your newest pet project."

"I have no such intentions. And neither, I'm sure, does the Federation. We only accept member worlds who _want_ to join us. It takes years for a single world to be assessed and found suitable. An empire would take decades. Far longer than I suspect I'll ever live. As for 'corrupting' your society..." she gave him her best unimpressed look, "I think you're doing a good enough job of that yourselves, without any help from an outside source."

"Meaning _what_?" he asked angrily, narrowing his eyes.

She sighed. This was not going as well as she had hoped. She wanted to start off on the right foot, and this was definitely not the right foot.

"Meaning that your former leaders have made some bad decisions, and now your people are paying for them."

"And how gracious of the Federation to come and pick up the pieces."

"Perhaps, Ambassador," said Garak, "it would be best if we left you to unpack and get settled in your new home. I'm sure it has been a long trip for you."

"A long trip in a comfortable starship, with as much food, water and shelter as you required," Gul Amaro added.

"Thank you, Mr Garak," she said, grateful that one Cardassian, at least, was keeping up the pleasantries. Even if it _was_ just a pretence.

Gul Amaro stormed out of the building without another word, and Garak deposited her second bag on the floor.

"Why don't I come back tomorrow, and see how you're getting on?" he asked.

"Thank you, I would appreciate that."

"In the mean-time, I would recommend that you not go wandering outside alone. Especially when it gets dark."

"Is the situation here that bad? Are unarmed people not safe on the streets?"

"These are troubling times," he said, though he didn't sound at all troubled by it himself. "I would hate for anything... untoward... to happen to the Federation's first Ambassador to Cardassia. Until tomorrow, then."

Garak left, and Gin took a deep breath, looking around at the dusty entrance hall. There was an air of sadness about the building, of emptiness and loneliness, and she wondered if she might be imagining it. Shaking her head, she bent down to pick up her bag, and set off up the stairs. Whatever this place had been in the past, it was now her home, and a small area of Federation territory within Cardassian space. It was her job to make sure the building looked and felt like it was part of the Federation. And perhaps, in time, the Cardassians would come to view her not as their enemy, as yet another oppressor, but as somebody who wanted to help them establish peace and prosperity. Maybe even a friend.

o - o - o - o - o

Morning on Cardassia Prime turned out to be just like afternoon on Cardassia Prime; hot, humid, and full of people who just didn't know what to do. From her vantage point at the balcony window, Gin had an excellent view of the street outside, but sadly, the view was not a pleasant one. Vacant-eyed men and women wandered to and fro, trying to make themselves useful by clearing rubble away from buildings. A brick here, a few shards of broken glass there... piles were forming, slowly, but more often than not, the people on the street paid more attention to the shattered remnants of their personal items than they did to rebuilding their homes. Photographs in frames were recovered and cried over. Children found lost toys and tried to play with them, to escape the despair that was slowly overcoming the adults.

It was not something Gin had been expecting. The much-vaunted Cardassian pride and strength seemed to be gone, replaced by sadness and loss, and she was beginning to understand why. The Cardassians had been dealt defeat after defeat. First they'd been driven from Bajor by Bajoran freedom fighters, forced to abandon the planet before they had finished stripping it of its rich resources. Then the Klingons had invaded their space, attacking outlying colonies and annexing Cardassian worlds. As if that wasn't bad enough, there had been continued fighting with the Maquis in the demilitarised zone, and more recently, the Cardassian people had been living under Dominion rule. Granted, Dominion rule hadn't been _too_ harsh on the civilians... not until they had risen up in protest, at least. And to top off the rain of bitter blows, their leader, their liberator, had been killed in an attack on the Dominion headquarters.

Cardassians had always valued order and regulations, but now there was nobody to tell them what to do. Their military was in ruins, their intelligence branch had been devastated years ago, along with the Romulan Tal'Shiar, and their former civilian government, a combination of the Detapa Council and the Cardassian Dissident Movement, had been destroyed when Gul Dukat had signed the treaty making Cardassia a part of the Dominion.

It was taking too long for a new government to form. Gin knew that there could be only one of two possibilities; either a council would form, a collection of well-respected or powerful members of Cardassian society who could work together to rebuild the Union. If this was to be the case, then it was likely going to be a long, drawn-out affair. From what little she had already gathered, there were already power struggles happening inside the capital. The military personnel felt it was their natural right to rule, and restore order. The civilians still aware enough to realise what was happening were resisting military rule. They remembered only too well what had happened the last time the military was in power, and they didn't want a repeat of that.

The other alternative was that a leader would rise to take charge, but this option was looking increasingly unlikely as time went on. The time for a leader to step forward and take charge would have been immediately after the withdrawal of the Dominion. At that point, a man or woman with enough charisma could have rallied the people under a single banner. Sadly, it had not happened, and Gin suspected there wasn't such a person left on Cardassia. Though she knew from reading Starfleet reports that Garak was making a spirited attempt at it, he didn't have enough persuasion with the people. He had been gone for years, living with Bajorans and the Federation. Though the people of Cardassia might respect him for his part in the rebellion, the fact that he had been gone for too long, coupled with the fact that he was a former member of the Obsidian Order, made them less inclined to fully trust him. Which was a shame, because she suspected he'd make a rather good leader.

"Some might say we deserve all of this."

She didn't jump at the sound of Garak's voice, but her heart _did_ start beating faster. Damned man, sneaking up on her inside her own embassy! When he joined her at the window, she turned her head to look at him, and was surprised to see the smile, for once, absent from his face.

"Nobody deserves this," she said, returning her gaze to the street outside, where two dusty children, their sleeves torn and tattered, were playing on a pile of rubble.

"Maybe you should ask the Bajorans."

"I don't care about Bajoran opinion," she said firmly. "I'm not the Federation ambassador to Bajor. And, quite frankly, I have better things to do than sit in judgement over your people and debate whether or not you deserve what has happened. It is time to look to the future, not to the past." She turned to face him. "Your people need leaders. What are you doing about it?"

"Trying to form a government," he said simply. "Easier said than done, however. My people are not naturally inclined to form a consensus and amicably come to agreements. Open discussion and debate about order go against the very nature of our society."

"Did you ever think that perhaps it's time for your society to change?"

"More than once," he said, and the disturbing smile returned to his face. "That too, however, is easier said than done. You've already met Gul Amaro, and he's just one of the opponents of forming a multilateral government."

"It's a shame Legate Damar was killed during the rebellion," she mused. "He had the respect of the people, and a military command. He might have been able to negotiate the creation of an inclusive government."

"A shame indeed. I had such high hopes for him. We must simply continue without him."

"Is there nobody else? Nobody who has enough power and influence to unite your people?" she asked, hoping against hope that there might still be a chance for a swift resolution.

"I'm afraid not. The situation is quite dire. Many of our former government officials are now dead. Order has been kept in some of our towns and cities, but in others, chaos is rampant. There is looting and violence which is spilling out into the surrounding countryside. Simply put, there just isn't enough of anything to go around. Restoring water and power supplies to the capital won't help the rest of the population, and although your people are doing an admirable job of providing aid, the sad fact of the matter is, they have their own concerns to tend to first."

Gin sighed. She'd always known that her task here would involve an uphill struggle, but she hadn't realised just how difficult it would be. Naïvely, she'd imagined that the Cardassians would be glad of her presence. That it would reassure them the Federation was helping. That they would even be grateful to her, for coming here to oversee the aid relief personally. Her former daydreams now left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Tell me something," said Garak. "Who did you annoy to be given Cardassia as a diplomatic assignment?"

"Nobody," she said, offering a weak smile. "I requested to be sent here."

He gave her a look that suggested she was insane. "Why?"

How could she answer that? Any reply that she gave would sound arrogant. She wanted a challenge. She wanted to take part in the restoration of an empire. She wanted to get as far away from Earth, and her own problems, as was possible. She wanted to prove to herself and her family that she could survive on her own. She wanted somebody to be grateful to her. Her reasons were weak, foolish, childish. No wonder Gul Amaro hated her; he'd seen right through her the moment he laid eyes on her. As far as he was concerned, his people were nothing but a stepping stone to her. A way for her to prove she could succeed. Evidence of her diplomatic savvy. She felt disgusted with herself. She didn't deserve to be here. She was a child, playing at being an adult. The Cardassian people deserved more than that. The _Federation_ deserved more than that.

What Garak thought of her silence, she did not know, but he continued. "It must irk you terribly, being here."

"How so?" she asked, confused.

"Because Humans see an injustice, and it fills them with righteous fury. They see something broken, and desperately want to fix it. They see something wrong, and immediately want to right it. They can't tolerate what is not whole and perfect, like the Federation. What you don't understand, is that there is no place for the Federation here."

"I don't believe that. Perhaps, in the long term, the Federation and the Cardassian Union will never be allies, or even friends. But right here, right now, you need us. How many more would die if we left? Your ships are already spread thin; without our fleet, aid would never reach your planet. What you call righteous fury and intolerance, I call compassion. And maybe you think it's rather arrogant of me to say, but you need me here to co-ordinate the relief efforts. Why not let me worry about the Federation? You need to think more about forming a working government, before your civilisation descends into anarchy."

He watched her appraisingly for a moment, and then smiled.

"Well, I guess that's me told. But mark my words, you won't convince Gul Amaro, and most of the other potential council members, that you are here to help, as easily as you have convinced me. They will continue to look for your hidden motives."

"They will find none," she said calmly, pushing away her anger. She did _not_ like being tested... even if she had passed the test. "Now, yesterday evening I managed to get the communications console working and made contact with some of the relief workers on the planet's surface, as well as the USS Cheyenne, in orbit. There are several things I need to report to whatever's passing itself off as a government here. When would be the best time for me to meet with you and your colleagues?"

"I'll make an appointment for you," he offered.

"Good." If she was going to have to fight people at every turn, at least she would know whom she was fighting. And the sooner she knew who was really pulling the strings around here, the sooner she could report back to the Federation Council.


	2. Secrets

Restoration

_2. Secrets_

Vision shimmered, the scenery shifted, and Garak was no longer looking at the phaser-scorched walls of the current mockery of a government's headquarters, but at the clean, light-grey walls of Lakat hospital. One of the uniform-clad technicians was standing behind the transporter controls, ready to respond to incoming emergencies or transport out-patients away from the hospital.

Garak gave the young man a quick nod and then left the room, stepping into a corridor that was a similar light-grey and just as clinical. There was a sharp, astringent smell that seemed to permeate every inch of the building, and as he made his way unerringly through the twisting maze of almost-identical corridors he wrinkled his nose and tried not to sneeze. He would be the first to admit that he didn't like hospitals, or doctors, which was a little ironic given that his closest Human friend was a doctor… but there was just something unnerving about being at somebody else's mercy. Or lack of.

When he reached the room he opened the door, and found Doctor Merak Rokann standing beside the bed, fiddling with some of the computer terminals on the wall. The computers in this room were all medical, and as such Garak had little clue about what they did or what information they showed. He did notice, however, that Rokann appeared to be altering the automated dosage of some medicine or other. He wondered if that was a good thing.

"Has there been any change?" he asked, stepping into the room.

Doctor Rokann didn't even bother looking at him. He merely answered—his face an almost perpetual frown of concentration—with his gaze fixed on the medical console.

"Why yes, as a matter of fact, he spent the morning dancing and telling humourous anecdotes. Then he had a light lunch followed by a nap."

"There's no need to be sarcastic, Doctor," Garak replied. He fought to cover up his irritation, and only just succeeded. There was a time when he would have found Rokann's dry humour entertaining and refreshing, but he had less patience these days for word-play and frivolities. There was far too much suffering on Cardassia to make light of things.

He glanced to the bed, where a third Cardassian lay propped up by pillows and covered to his waist by a silvery-grey medical blanket. Damar's gaze was empty, devoid of any thought or emotion, without even a flicker of recognition in his pale blue eyes. He merely lay staring at something nobody else could see. He never spoke, never opened his mouth, and didn't respond no matter how much the doctors prodded and poked him.

"You missed Gul Amaro by an hour or so," said Doctor Rokann with a small grunt.

"I know. I heard him come back to the city," Garak admitted. Amaro was the loudest man he had ever met, but that was usually the way people went if they spent any amount of time in the military. Personally, Garak felt that the louder a man shouted, the less he had to say. Try telling that to Gul Amaro, though. "What did he try this time?" he asked. "More kanar?" He still hadn't figured out where Amaro had got the couple of bottles of kanar from; there was virtually none left on Cardassia Prime.

"Women," Rokann scoffed. "Two pretty young things with more looks than common sense, if you ask me."

Women? Amaro must be getting desperate, and desperate men made foolish mistakes. It was a huge risk to bring anyone here, to let them know that Damar was alive. If word got out that the hero of Cardassia hadn't died in the attack on the Founder after all, the hospital would most likely be stormed by people wanting to catch a glimpse of their saviour. And to see him like this would destroy what little hope they might have left.

In a way, it would be better if Damar was dead. Dead heroes were much less trouble than living ones. And living heroes in waking comas were _far_ more dangerous to have lying around than a buried corpse. For the moment, only Garak, Amaro, the doctor and his son, a handful of other doctors and considerably less of the unofficial 'rulers' of Cardassia knew that Damar was alive, and each of them was trying to rouse him into a responsive state. The first one to speak to Damar would be the one to talk him into their way of thinking, and Garak was determined that Amaro should not be the one to get his claws on Damar – the former leader of the Cardassian resistance was too unimaginative and impressionable to be allowed to fall under Amaro's blustering influence.

Unfortunately, Damar stubbornly refused to die, and Garak knew he would never get the chance to help him along; Rokann watched his patient too closely, and Amaro would get suspicious if Damar died now. The time to act would have been weeks ago, when Damar had first been brought here, when his life hung precariously in the balance. But fortune had been against him, because Rokann had proved even more paranoid than Garak, and hadn't even mentioned to anybody outside the hospital that Damar was alive until he was sure that he actually would live. By then it was already too late.

"I don't know why you all bother coming here," the doctor continued in a quiet grumble. "You're not helping him any. Why don't you just go back to your headquarters and continue playing at politics?"

"Because unfortunately, politics is a lot harder than it looks when everybody thinks their own way of running things is the best," Garak informed him. "The sad truth is we need a leader. Somebody who has the trust of all Cardassians. Someone who can unite us."

"A leader!" Rokann scoffed. A scornful expression pulled his scaled brows even deeper into his perpetual frown. "Is that what you think he is? A figure-head, more like. Your so-called leader was the face of the Dominion occupation of our homeworld. And where did he lead the resistance? To their deaths. Pah! You'd be better off following a wild ranca beast."

Garak listened to the angry tirade, and immediately spotted the incongruence. "If you don't think Damar is a good leader, why did you save his life?"

"Because my son asked me to. And because I'm a doctor. It doesn't matter to me whether someone's a good leader or whether he couldn't lead the way out of his own house as it burnt down around him."

"And have you found a way of fixing him yet?" Garak asked.

"Medicine is not like engineering. Before I can fix a problem, I have to have something to fix. And right now, there's nothing wrong with him."

"Nothing wrong? Doctor, I can assure you, this is not normal behaviour for Damar. Don't get me wrong, I rather enjoy his newfound silence, but _something_ must be broken within him. I've never known him to ignore kanar."

"Then _you_ fix him."

"If only I could," he sighed.

In his humble, not-so-professional opinion, the problem was that Damar had simply seen too much and done too much, and then died. Looking back at those final weeks of the resistance, Garak could even remember the moment when that switch had been flipped. The moment when Damar had crossed some invisible threshold, when the man that he had been all his life had suddenly and violently expired.

_The tension on the bridge of the Jem'Hadar ship was palpable. Kira Nerys, fierce Bajoran soldier and official Federation advisor to the Cardassian Liberation Front, was standing behind the flight controls, navigating the ship at warp seven back to Federation territory. Every so often she glanced down, very briefly, looking at the lifeless body of Gul Rusot from the corner of her eyes, as if not convinced that he was truly dead. Garak doubted the man would be getting up any time soon; a phaser-blast at close range to the chest had that effect on a person._

_ Odo, Kira's paramour and another unofficial member of the resistance, sat suffering in silence on the floor, his skin starting to peel and flake due to the Changeling sickness that had started to affect him only a few weeks ago. Kira's gaze travelled to Odo just as often as it travelled to the still form of Gul Rusot, but she knew that he wanted to be left alone, to play his usual stoic role even though he was in terrible pain, and she was willing to grant him that favour even though she wanted nothing more to sit by his side and comfort him with her presence._

_ Garak himself was manning the communications console, monitoring comm traffic and flight paths of nearby Dominion and Breen vessels, relaying the information to Kira's navigational computer. So far everything was silent; their theft of the bug-like ship had gone unnoticed. It wouldn't be long, though, until the alarm was raised, and if they weren't in Federation territory by then, they would have to fight their way out of Dominion-controlled space. If that happened they would need their fourth companion at the weapons station, to attack and defend._

_ Unfortunately, Damar seemed in no position to undertake such actions. Dominion ships lacked chairs—the genetically-engineered Jem'Hadar did not need to sit, ever, and their cloned Vorta masters sat only when dealing with other races who did—so Damar had found himself a place to sit on the floor where the upper bridge ended and an access trench led down to yet more alien consoles. He'd turned his back on Kira, Garak and Odo, and the body of his former friend and co-conspirator, and now sat slumped against the solid pedestal of a computer, surrounded by an almost visible aura of sorrow and loss._

_ It had been only hours since Damar had learnt that his wife and son, taken into hiding to protect them from Dominion retribution for their husband and father's acts, had been found and killed by the Jem'Hadar. 'Executed,' the Dominion called it, so clean and clinical-sounding. The nature of the resistance cell's mission had afforded Damar no time to stop and mourn their loss. And when Kira had not-so-subtly pointed out the parallels between the actions of the Dominion in murdering two innocents, and the actions of the Cardassians during their occupation of Bajor, Damar had taken her words with a cold fury that seemed to have sustained him during their risky subterfuge._

_ The lingering tension was not only a result of their precarious situation aboard a Jem'Hadar ship in Dominion-controlled space. Just prior to stealing the ship, in the heat of the moment, Gul Rusot had turned his phaser on Kira, claiming the ship for himself and trying to convince Damar that they didn't need a 'Bajoran'—that word said with a hate-filled sneer—to tell them what to do._

_ Of course, everybody on the bridge had a weapon, and Garak had been more than willing to use his own phaser on Rusot, not only because he liked Kira __**far**__ more than the abrasive gul, but because he knew that if the resistance was to succeed, it needed Kira at his head, to advise about terrorist tactics. None of the Cardassians had experience of resistance and terrorism, and without Kira to help them they would have fallen flat on their faces long ago._

_ Indecision had flickered in Damar's eyes, and Garak could practically hear his thoughts. Rusot was not just Damar's second, but an old friend, and they'd served together even before Damar had been caught up in Dukat's one-ship war against the Klingons. Rusot told him things that he wanted to hear, whispering poisonous, anti-Bajoran sentiments into his ear when nobody else had been around to listen. But at the same time, Damar knew just how valuable Kira's expertise was. He may not like her, but he needed her. All of Cardassia needed her, even Rusot – they just didn't know it._

_ In the end, Rusot had made one last fatal mistake. He hadn't expected Damar's love for Cardassia and hatred of the Dominion to outweigh his dislike of the Bajoran woman and his high regard for his friend. Pulling the trigger of that phaser, killing Rusot, was perhaps the most difficult thing Damar had done during the whole resistance; even more difficult than asking Starfleet for assistance. With the threat posed by Rusot over, Damar had explained his action with a single sentiment. 'He was my friend. But his Cardassia is dead, and it won't be coming back.'_

_ There was a defeated slump to the resistance leader's shoulders as he sat facing the bulkhead, not looking at the others on the bridge. Garak knew, then, that Damar's Cardassia was dead too. But Damar had something that Rusot had not; the strength to continue, the humility and the vision to see a new Cardassia born from the ashes of its dead predecessor. Never again would men like Rusot hold power on Cardassia. The new Cardassia had to be a little more humble, and accept help where it was offered. Those who could not adapt to that mindset, who clung to the old Cardassia even during its death throes, would do more harm than good._

_ Though Garak could not see Damar's face, he could imagine the tears he would not allow himself to cry, not whilst there was a single person around to witness them. To Cardassians, emotions were weakness, and though they were capable of expressing sorrow, it was usually only in the company of family members. Of course, Damar had no members of his family left now. All he had was his internal suffering and loss, his unshed tears and the self-loathing he was probably feeling within, and these things had been draped over his shoulders, a cloak which he wrapped around himself and used to hide from the reality of the bridge and the remaining three participants of this mission._

_ There were no words of comfort that Garak could give to Damar, as he sat there lonely and miserable. Even if he knew the right words, he would not have given them. Right now, he was capable of working with the man who had murdered the woman he loved, but that was as far as he was willing to go. He didn't want to hear about Damar's feelings, and he didn't want to offer words of comfort, to extend that hand of friendship. So he focused on the comm traffic, and the flight paths, and waited for Damar to crawl out of the dark pit of despair he'd dug for himself._

"Is there anything else?" Doctor Rokann asked, bringing Garak's mind back into the lightness of the hospital room and the sharp astringent smell which tickled his nose and made him want to sneeze.

"No," he replied, looking at the completely absent expression on Damar's face. "You'll contact me if anything changes, won't you?"

Rokann chuckled. "I'll send up a flare and see which of you vultures get here first."

"So glad you're on the right side."

"I'm on my side," the doctor replied. "I look after my son, my patients, and myself, in that order. The rest of you can go and bicker and play at politics to your hearts' content. Just leave me out of it."

Garak left, allowing himself a tiny shake of his head. Rokann had obviously never been to the Julian Bashir school of bedside manner… which was a shame. A little touch of Humanity, he felt, would not have gone amiss around here.

o - o - o - o - o

Gin had never thought that a month could pass so quickly. Day after day she saw order restored little by little on Cardassia Prime, but it remained a sad state of affairs. More than half of the people in the capital city, Lakat, were living in temporary camps on the outskirts of the former conurbation, or within the public garden areas that had once housed nothing but lawns and flowers.

For the first few days, Gin had made the arduous trek to the river, to bathe herself, and quickly learnt that the women washed upstream, and the men downstream. Any shyness or modesty she felt over undressing in front of strangers quickly disappeared, for the water of the river was pleasantly cool, a blessed relief from the heat and the biting flies. She soon became a familiar sight at the river, and though the women who bathed there greeted her when they saw her, none stayed around her long enough to engage in detailed conversation, and none offered their friendship. She cast aside her disappointment over that; she was an outsider, so she knew she couldn't expect immediate results.

Relief efforts continued, and Gin liaised daily with the teams on the ground and the ships in orbit. She came to know the ship captains and team leaders by name, and even though she was kept busy, she made a point of getting to know the men and women of the Federation who were here offering aid. Whenever she made her reports to the Federation Council, she made sure to mention the names of the people who were doing all the hard work; recognition of their efforts was the least she could do for them.

Her first month on Cardassia passed with little incident, and she quickly developed a routine. Twice a week she met with Garak, Amaro, and two-dozen other influential Cardassians who were hoping to lead their empire into a glorious new future. In reality, they spent most of their time bickering, unable to agree on even minor decisions, and Gin spent more and more time wandering the streets of Lakat, observing the civilians and reporting to the Federation Council about what was needed in terms of relief.

The Cardassians themselves seemed to have no idea about how to form a working government from the ruins of the previously ruling organisations. Those who had taken part in the resistance felt they had a right to lead, and Garak was the most vocal of them. In truth, Gin hoped that he would get his way, because he was one of the most progressive of the Cardassians she had met, and she knew that he had plenty of experience in dealing with other races. Exile on a multicultural space-station had stamped out of him any natural inclination towards xenophobia.

There was, of course, opposition. Gul Amaro, and other members of the military, insisted that to be strong, the power of the Central Command needed to be restored. The fleets needed to be rebuilt, soldiers needed to be trained, and Cardassians needed to show the galaxy that they could stand on their own two feet. Gin did not disagree with the sentiment, just the methods. During the Central Command's ruling of Cardassia, under the mostly puppet-controlled Detapa Council, personal freedoms had been severely curtailed. She didn't want to see Cardassia return to the old ways, because the old ways just wouldn't work anymore.

Meanwhile, a few civilians from the old Detapa Council had survived the years of war with the Klingons and the orbital bombardments of the Dominion, and of course, they thought they knew best. They wanted to restrict the size of the military and concentrate instead on rebuilding Cardassia's infrastructure. They were not unwilling to listen to Gin, and even entertained the idea of trade with other species, but they remained wary and insular, fearing the effects of allowing contact between their regular citizens and aliens. That was, after all, how corruption of society began.

One month to the day she had arrived on the planet, Gin looked up from her desk to find Gul Amaro standing in the doorway observing her. She fought back a sigh and straightened up, watching him casually saunter into the room. Whatever he wanted, it probably wasn't going to be good. He rarely ever bothered to come and see her, openly scorning her during her briefings with the council.

"Is there something I can help you with, Gul Amaro?" she asked.

"Not as such, no. I just stopped by to tell you how... impressed... I am with your presence so far." Gin felt her eyebrows rise up in surprise, and Amaro continued. "I must admit, I had my doubts about you, and the Federation, but you've managed to establish a fine working relationship with my people, and the government we're trying to form. And with Garak in particular. He's quite supportive of your efforts, it seems."

She folded her arms across her chest and leant back in her chair. She didn't care for the tone of his voice; his words were nice enough, but they lacked feeling, and they did not mesh with the coldness in his brown eyes. Whilst it was true that she was closest to Garak, mostly because he had spent a lot of time around Humans and understood them quite well, she suspected that Amaro was trying to play some political game. Unfortunately for him, he was terrible at politics, preferring the straight-forward action of a military assault.

"Well, thank you," she replied. "I'm glad you find my service satisfactory."

"I just hope that your situation won't change _too_ much, in the coming days. This is, after all, a very exciting time for us. We stand on the verge of forming a new government, one that will have Cardassia's needs at its heart."

"Really? No offence, but from what I've seen, your people are a _long_ way off forming a working government."

"Oh, I'm sure Legate Damar will quickly change all of that," he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Gin leant forward, resting her arms on her desk and narrowing her eyes at the Gul. What sort of silly new game was he trying to play? "What did you say?" she asked.

"You mean, Garak hasn't told you? But I thought the two of you were so close!" Feigned surprise painted Amaro's face, and Gin could tell he was taking great pleasure in this. "Legate Damar did not die in the attack on the Dominion headquarters. He's alive and recovering from his injuries. Very soon he'll take his rightful place at the head of our council. A council influenced by the military, as it should be. Are you sure Garak didn't mention this before? I would have thought he'd told you of this important information."

"I'm sure he was waiting for the best time to tell me," she said smoothly, smothering her anger.

"Perhaps. Well, I should return to command. There is much for me to do." He gave her a horrible, arrogant smile. "Good day, Ambassador."

She waited until she was sure he was gone, then immediately opened her comm system and called Garak's office in the command building. It didn't take long for him to answer, and he smiled as soon as he saw her. Before he could even open his mouth to get out a greeting, however, she cut him off with her own words.

"Legate Damar is alive," she accused. The smile disappeared from his face. "For how long have you known?"

"Several weeks," he admitted.

"_Weeks_? You've known since before I even arrived on Cardassia!? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Quite frankly, it was none of your concern. None of the Federation's concern."

"The legitimate leader of the Cardassian Union is alive, and you felt it was none of my concern?" she hissed angrily. "Gul Amaro seemed to feel that it was worthy of my concern."

"Gul Amaro is a fool who believes he can play at politics," Garak said dismissively. "He seeks to upset the fine working relationship we've established and—"

"Gul Amaro has not upset the 'fine working relationship' we have established, Garak. _You_ have. The moment you hid this news from me. I want to see Legate Damar. Tomorrow morning."

"Oh, I'm afraid that's out of the question—"

"It is not. Not unless you want me to cut off diplomatic ties—and aid—to Cardassia."

"You wouldn't!" he said, calling her bluff. "Think of all the starving chi—"

"NO!" She slammed her fist down on the desk, and Garak winced at the volume of it. "I won't be lied to, Garak. It's the one thing I won't tolerate. You can either set up a meeting for me with Legate Damar, or I can make things _very_ uncomfortable for the Cardassian people."

"Alright," he said, after a moment of consideration. "I'm sorry that I hid this from you, but it was not without good cause. Damar was severely injured during the rebellion. He was clinically dead for a few minutes. At the moment, he's still recovering. We haven't released news of his recovery for two reasons. First, we don't know how much he _will_ recover. And second, to give hope to our people once more, only to take it away from them if Damar is unable to continue as before... it will crush what is left of their spirit." He leant forward, closer to the viewer. "I will set up a meeting for you, tomorrow morning. But I must ask something in return."

"I make no promises," she said coldly. Let him squirm a little. He deserved it.

"Please don't inform the Federation. Not yet. If word got out that Damar is alive... it's not something we're ready to deal with, yet. This whole situation is very sensitive."

She gave it a moment of deliberation. "I can agree to that."

"Very well. Come to command tomorrow morning at o'nine, and we'll transport to where Damar is staying."

The viewer closed, and Gin exhaled slowly, her mind ablaze with thoughts and possibilities. If Damar really _could_ unite the Cardassian people, they might just stand a chance after all. And though she was still angry with Garak for keeping this from her, she thought that she could at least understand why he had done it. After all, he was a former member of the Obsidian Order. Secrecy was his middle name.

o - o - o - o - o

At o'nine hundred hours, Gin was escorted to the council's command centre by one of the military officers. She'd picked the same outfit today that she'd worn on first arrival at Cardassia. The past four weeks now felt like a practice run, nothing more than a warm-up in preparation for this meeting. Not wanting to overwhelm Legate Damar with information, she'd opted to bring only a single datapad, which held several reports, and this she now clutched in her hand as she walked down the hot, dusty street.

When she was let inside the compound, she was surprised to find not only Garak waiting for her, but Gul Amaro too. When she expressed her observation, the Gul's reply was typical.

"I'm here to look out for Cardassia's interests."

"He fears you may try to assassinate Legate Damar," Garak said helpfully.

"With a datapad?" she asked, holding up the single piece of equipment.

"I will not underestimate the cunning and resourcefulness of the Federation," Amaro said with a cold sneer.

"Well, should we depart? The Legate awaits us," said Garak.

He led them into a transporter room, and they each stood on a pad. At a nod from Garak, the young man standing behind the controls energised the matter stream, and an instant later Gin was looking at the walls of another room, which was larger than the one they had just left, and more brightly lit. It was, however, just as warm, and she quickly ran her sleeve across her forehead as a grey-haired man wearing a long gold tunic approached the trio.

"Ambassador Fox," Garak said, stepping forward to perform the introductions, "this is Doctor Merak Rokann. He's the man who saved Legate Damar's life."

"In truth, it was my son who saved the Legate," Rokann said immediately. "He observed the rebel attack on the Dominion headquarters. He brought Damar to my clinic, and I was able to stabilise him until we could bring him here."

"And where is 'here' exactly?" Gin asked, looking around at the room.

"That is none of your concern," Amaro said, and at the same time, Rokann replied with, "Lakat Hospital." Garak shook his head, though whether as a rebuke for Amaro or Rokann, Gin could not tell.

"Doctor, may we see the Legate now?" he asked.

"Of course. Come this way, please."

The first thing Gin noticed was the limp in the doctor's right leg. It was quite pronounced, and when he caught her glancing at it, he explained.

"I was on Bajor, travelling from my home there to a nearby town, where a Cardassian woman had fallen ill. One of the resistance cells had planted a bomb in the pass. I was right next to the man who stood on it. He ended up in pieces, so I'm lucky that all I got out of it was a piece of shrapnel."

"Does it still pain you?" she asked.

"Sometimes. But you learn to live with pain." He grunted, then seemed to truly see her for the first time. "When I heard we were getting a Federation ambassador, I was expecting somebody older. Is it just me, or are diplomats getting younger and younger?"

"I'm almost thirty, Doctor."

"As I said. Younger and younger." He stopped suddenly outside a plain, unmarked door. "You ready?" he asked her, and she nodded. He pressed the call button on the door's panel, but didn't wait for a response, merely activating the door release switch himself before shuffling into the room.

The room was pleasant and light, if a little too warm for Gin's tastes. A large oval window was set into the right-hand wall, allowing yellow-gold sunlight to stream into the room. Various panels set into the left wall were beeping and flashing, and several empty chairs stood lined up against the wall beneath the panels. At the far end of the room was a bed, upon which a Cardassian man lay in the raised position, dressed in a medical gown and covered by a grey blanket.

Gin stepped forward, and immediately heard Gul Amaro move to stop her, but he didn't get the chance. Doctor Rokann followed on her heels as she walked towards the bed. For the moment she ignored the other men in the room as she examined the man beneath the blanket. She had seen pictures of Legate Damar, and if this man wasn't him, he was an incredibly good impersonation. Like most Cardassian men, his black hair was slicked back over his head, giving the impression of neatness. His blue eyes, though—a couple of shades darker than Garak's—were cast down towards the end of his bed, and he stared unseeing, his gaze focused on nothing. When he did not respond to her presence, she waved her hand in his line of sight. Nothing. Not even a blink.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked, turning to face Doctor Rokann.

"Nothing at all," Rokann replied. He gestured to one of the consoles on the wall on the other side of the bed. "His sensory and motor nerves are both responding well. Afferent and efferent neurons are transmitting impulses. I've repaired most of the damage to his tissue, although he will always have some scarring. Though he was clinically dead for several minutes, I was able to keep oxygen supplied to his brain, so there's been very little damage there. Apart from some minor trauma to his chest, he's a fit, healthy individual."

"How long has he been in this catatonic state?" she asked, lowering her face and peering into his eyes, trying to get them to focus on her. It was useless; he just stared right through her, as if she wasn't even there.

"Since we brought him out of the medically induced coma I'd put him in to save his life," Rokann replied. "He's been off life support for weeks, but he won't eat or drink. We've got him on intravenous feeding and dialysis to keep him alive. I've tried everything I can think of to get him to respond, but nothing has worked."

"You see now why I didn't tell you of this before?" Garak said, from behind her.

"Would you like me to ask a Federation doctor to examine him?" Gin asked Rokann.

"Absolutely not!" Amaro spoke up immediately. "It's completely out of the question!"

"I'd rather you didn't," Garak added.

Rokann merely looked at her for a moment, assessing her with surprisingly compassionate blue eyes, then handed her a Cardassian datapad. "These are his latest test results and brain scans. I'd be grateful if you could ask one of your doctors to look at them, but please don't say who the patient is. We don't want word of his condition to spread."

"I'll do what I can," she assured him. "And now," she said, turning to face both Garak and Amaro, "you will please leave me. I have the latest Federation reports to give to the Legate."

Gul Amaro opened and closed his mouth several times in disbelief, but Garak recovered much faster than his rival.

"I'm afraid that for the moment, your reports will need to be made to—"

"To the legitimate leader of the Cardassian Union," she finished coolly.

"There's not a chance I'm leaving you alone with the Legate!" Amaro huffed, warring between incredulity and outrage. "Besides, for the moment, the council rules Cardassia."

"Oh?" she asked, raising a questioning eyebrow. "Legate Damar was the last known leader of the Cardassian Union. He was also the acknowledged leader of the resistance. You were there, Garak. Do you deny that the Federation recognised and backed the resistance led by Legate Damar?"

"No, but—"

"In that case, clinical death or not, catatonic state or not, he is still the leader of Cardassia. My instructions are to report directly to and advise the Cardassian leader, or another designated official. Until Legate Damar designates such an official, I will make my reports to him, as per my instructions."

"You seek to take advantage of us," Amaro snarled angrily. "You know that Damar's in no fit state to respond to your reports... or your demands."

"Do I? Doctor Rokann has just advised me that Legate Damar is, medically speaking, perfectly capable of hearing everything that is happening in this room, and until I'm able to challenge that advice by having his test results verified by an external source, I have no reason to believe that he's not hearing everything that we say. That he _chooses_ not to respond is not my concern. Now, are you going to leave us in peace to discuss sensitive information, or do I have to return to the embassy and advise the Federation Council that the illegitimate Cardassian government is attempting to deceive them?"

Help came suddenly, from an unexpected source.

"Gul Amaro, Garak," Doctor Rokann spoke up, "I'm afraid that I'm going to have to ask you to leave, now. Since learning that Legate Damar is alive, you've been here almost every day, badgering him, hounding him constantly, trying to appeal to his sense of honour, nagging at him to come back and serve Cardassia once more. It hasn't worked. In fact, I suspect your constant haranguing, your forceful words, might be exactly what's keeping Legate Damar in this state. I myself would gladly go catatonic if I had the pair of you pestering me every day. I'd rather that you left peacefully... I'd hate to have to ask the hospital guards to remove you from the premises."

Garak gave the Doctor a momentary cold glare, before turning to Gin. "Well done, Ambassador. I do believe I underestimated you. You're almost Romulan in your ruthlessness. I'll be waiting for you in the transporter room."

When Garak disappeared, Amaro rounded on her with an angry snarl. "If you so much as even _touch_ the Legate, you will not make it out of this hospital alive." He stormed after Garak, dark thunderclouds almost visible over his head.

Letting out a small sigh of relief, Gin turned to the doctor. "Thank y—"

"I meant what I said," he told her sternly. "My patient is not to be badgered or harassed. Make your reports, but if you tax him in any way, you won't be welcome here again."

She gave him a small bow of acceptance as he limped from the room. Clearly, Doctor Rokann was going to do whatever it took to ensure the safety and recovery of his patient, and if that meant throwing out potential leaders of Cardassia, then so be it. He was, it seemed, a formidable man, and Gin tucked that information away inside her mind as she turned to examine Legate Damar once more.

"I suppose I should introduce myself properly," she said, stepping to the side of the bed. "My name is Virginia Fox, and I'm the Federation ambassador to Cardassia. I've heard a lot about you, and it's a pleasure to finally meet you." There was no response from the Legate, but she had not been expecting one. "So, nothing to say, hmm?" she asked rhetorically. "Good. That will make debriefing you easier. Garak and Gul Amaro talk _far_ too much, but I suspect you already know that by now."

She turned to look out of the window, and continued talking to him without paying him much attention. "I bet they've been oining you every day for weeks, each of them trying to get you to serve in the way they see best. Can't say I blame you for not wanting to deal with that." A small brown bird flitted between the treetops outside the window, and she smiled. "At least they gave you a room with a nice view. You wouldn't like the view from where I'm living at the moment. It's not easy to look out of the embassy windows."

Turning back to the Legate, she caught sight of a plate of untouched food on the table beside the head of the bed. One section of the tray contained tojal in yamok sauce—a Cardassian delicacy no doubt designed to tempt the Legate into eating—and she smiled when she saw several long green boiled sticks in the second section of the tray.

"You don't mind if I have these, do you?" she asked, reaching out and picking up one of the tender sticks. "I can't stomach some Cardassian foods, but I've developed quite a fondness for korat shoots. I'm surprised to find fresh shoots here... I didn't think many farmers bothered with korat these days. It's quite low value, after all. Anyway, I'm sure you don't really care about my opinion on Cardassian cuisine. Why don't I just make my reports, and if you have any thoughts, you can let me know."

Taking a bite of one of the shoots, she savoured the taste, rolling it around her tongue whilst she switched on her datapad.

"First of all," she said, "we've completed our relief efforts in Tomakan city. The dam, which was destroyed during the Dominion orbital strike, has been rebuilt, and localised flooding is beginning to subside. We estimate twenty thousand Cardassians have died there, through a combination of drowning and contracting Liran fever. Apparently the virus proliferates in hot, moist conditions. Six Federation personnel contracted it as well. Two died, and the other four were quarantined and cured.

"The USS Peru should be here any day now... they're escorting a shipment of food and medical supplies from one of the outlying Cardassian colonies to Cardassia Prime. Unfortunately, the last shipment sent was commandeered by pirates... Nausicaans, we think, or Pakled. The Peru is more than capable of handling them, however, so we don't anticipate any further problems." She glanced up briefly at Legate Damar's unseeing face before continuing.

"We've finished construction of a basic functional shipyard, located near Cardassia-three. It is my duty to inform you that for the moment, repair work will be strictly limited to unarmed commercial vessels, freighters and troop transports. All work carried out will be supervised by Starfleet engineers. Construction of a military-grade shipyard will begin in twenty-four months, pending a performance report of the shipyard we have just completed. In the interim, Starfleet vessels will continue to patrol Cardassian space, as a deterrent to raiders and other potential antagonists, and also to help keep the peace. Should you wish to offer any objections, I will be happy to relay them to the Bureau of Planetary Treaties.

"The last item I need to report is that a salvage team from the Federation Science Council will be arriving shortly, to examine some of the debris in this system. In particular, they're interested in analysing Dominion and Breen weapons and warp drives, as well as shielding. Of course, the Council will not attempt to prevent Cardassian scientists from doing the same, but all Federation research will be initially classified."

Switching off the datapad, she looked at Legate Damar again. There was still no change; the consoles on the wall were still beeping regularly, playing their own unique medical tune. His blue eyes were still unfocused, and there was no evidence that he even knew she was in the room.

"I can quite honestly say that this has been the shortest meeting I've had since arriving on Cardassia," she smiled. "Well, I suppose now that business it out of the way, I'll be going. Should you need me for anything, you can contact me at the embassy. Otherwise, I'll see you in three days for another report."

She left the room quietly, as unobtrusively as possible, just in case Doctor Rokann was loitering around. He wasn't there, but a hospital guard was waiting in the corridor for her, and he escorted her back to the transporter room, where Amaro, Garak and Rokann were doing their best to ignore each other. Rokann stepped forwards immediately.

"That didn't take as long as I thought it would," he said, sounding pleased that she hadn't overstayed her welcome.

"Legate Damar proved quite amenable," she replied. "He had no objections to any of the points I raised."

"I trust you'll be making your reports known to the council members also?" Amaro growled.

"The ones which are relevant... certainly."

"And who decides what's relevant to the Cardassian people?"

"I will make all of my reports to Legate Damar, and _he_ can decide what is relevant to the Cardassian people. He _is_ your leader... isn't he?"

Amaro gave her a hate-filled glare and turned to step onto the transporter pad.

"I suppose this means you'll be coming back then?" Rokann asked.

"Yes. In three days."

"The Legate and I will be waiting."

She gave him a curt nod and joined the two men on the transporter pad. Three days. Regardless of whether Legate Damar's condition had improved, she would have more reports to make.


	3. Friendship

Restoration

_3. Friendship_

Telor Rokann walked the familiar corridors of the hospital, offering greetings to the doctors and nurses he passed. He'd known some of them by name even before he and his father had moved here temporarily after the Dominion's surrender; colleagues of his father, they'd been common figures in Telor's life whilst he was growing up. Now, they always greeted him, offered him words whenever they had a moment of free time... it was good to be here, amongst them, although he did miss Kaskar. He didn't even know if his friend was still alive. His father had brought him here the moment Legate Damar was stable enough to be moved.

The small bag he carried across his shoulder bounced gently against his hip as he walked. He knew there was a spring in his step, but he couldn't help it, nor could he help the smile which always seemed to be tugging at the corners of his mouth these days. There was much to be pleased about; his people were free from their Dominion oppressors. Legate Damar was alive and safe. Telor and his father were out of their small, stuffy house, and Telor was learning a lot about medicine.

When he reached the corridor which housed the door to the Legate's room, he looked around quickly to make sure nobody was close, then pressed the door entry button. He wasn't supposed to be here, but he couldn't keep away. Besides, it wasn't as if he was _disturbing_ Legate Damar... all the man did was lie there, staring at nothing. Telor was sure that his company was doing the Legate good. Nobody else cared enough to just sit and talk to him. Everybody else wanted something from him.

He slipped into the room, closed the door behind him, turned to look at the Legate, and then froze. A woman was standing beside the window, a datapad in her hands. She was wearing black trousers and a lilac tunic with a dark purple sash. Her long, wavy brown hair fell free down her back, and when she heard the door open she looked up from the datapad, turning her grey eyes to him. It was the first time he had ever seen a Human in person, and he couldn't help but stare. Her skin was so pale and smooth, pinkish-white in colour, lacking the ridges and scales shared by all Cardassians. The arcs of her eyes were covered by thin strips of hair... eyebrows, he thought they were called, and they were a few shades darker than her hair... almost black.

If his sudden appearance was as big a surprise to her as her presence was to him, she didn't show it. She merely folded her arms across her chest and turned to face him.

"Hello," she said. Her voice was low, quite pleasing, and he wondered whether she could speak Cardassian, or whether she was using a universal translator. Did she hear Cardassian words translated into her own language?

"I—I'm sorry," he managed to get out at last. "I didn't know Legate Damar had company." The thought, and the presence of the stranger, made him narrow his eyes in suspicion. "Who are you?"

"My name's Gin Fox," she said, walking towards him. He tried to back away, but was stopped by the door. "I'm the Federation ambassador to Cardassia. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

She held out her hand in what he understood to be a welcoming gesture, and he gave it a suspicious glare. But he could find nothing to be suspicious off, so he took her hand in his own and let her shake it briefly. Her skin was arm and soft, like Lakarian silk. Never before had he felt such smooth skin.

"I'm Telor Rokann," he said, remembering his manners.

"Ah," she said, and smiled, displaying a row of pearly white teeth. It was a relief to see them; he'd heard that Klingons had fangs! "You must be Merak's son."

"You know my father?"

"Do you think I'd be in here if I didn't have his permission?"

"I suppose not," he admitted. His father was _very_ protective of his patients. "Just what _are_ you doing here, though?"

"Reporting official Federation business to Legate Damar," she explained, holding up her pad as evidence. Telor cringed inside. If his father found out he had just interrupted a diplomatic meeting, he'd be in serious trouble. Gin seemed to understand his plight. "I'd just finished my report when you entered," she said. "If you'd like to stay a while, I'm sure the Legate would appreciate the company. As would I."

"Really? You don't mind?"

"Of course not," she smiled. She looked strange when she smiled... it seemed to make her eyes go smaller. "Please, have a seat."

She gestured to a small table beneath the window, and the chair beside it. As Telor placed his bag on the table and took the seat, Gin fetched another chair from the other side of the room, and joined him. Now, he was lost. He had no idea what to say to a Human woman. An ambassador. Looking for a topic of conversation, he glanced over Legate Damar, and the food tray beside his bed.

"He ate the korat shoots?" he asked excitedly.

"I'm afraid not," the woman replied, with a small shake of her head that sent some of her hair flying. "I did."

"But they were for Legate Damar!"

"Oh, he doesn't mind."

"He told you that, did he?" he accused.

"No, but if our positions were reversed, I would not deny him my korat shoots. Besides," she said, giving him a conspiratorial grin, "I really like them. Back at the embassy, I can only get them replicated, but here they are fresh."

"I know," he said. "I picked them myself." Fearing that she might doubt him, he opened his small bag and brought out a bundle of hard green shoots. "See? They grow wild in the swamp just on the outskirts of the city. I give them to the hospital cook, but I keep a couple for myself. I prefer them raw."

"I've never had raw korat shoots before," Gin admitted. "What do they taste like?"

"See for yourself," he said, and plucked one of the shoots from the bundle, offering it to her. She took it and stuck one end in her mouth, biting down to release the sweet juices held inside. When she made an approving noise, he took one of the shoots for himself, and relaxed a little. "I've never met a Human before," he admitted. "Your homeworld is called Earth, isn't it?"

"That's right."

"What's it like?"

"Hmm," she said, chewing thoughtfully for a moment on the shoot as she considered how best to answer. "Well, overall it's not as warm as Cardassia, but some of our deserts get very, very hot. Two thirds of the planet is water, and the people live mostly on land, although there are a few undersea cities as well. It's also much bluer than Cardassia. And greener, too. I think it's something to do with the dispersal pattern of light as it enters our atmosphere, but I must admit, I'm not very interested in physics."

"Is that where your family lives?"

"Yes, most of them are there now, although a few go offworld regularly for trade. What about you? Do you have any family, other than your father?"

"No," he replied, his heart twinging in pain at the subject. "Just my father. My mother died a few years ago. I miss her."

"It's difficult," she replied, her voice oozing sympathy, "losing somebody you love. But your father is lucky that he has you."

"That's what he says. Though he does shout at me an awful lot," he admitted wryly. Then he cast his eyes back to Damar. "Does the Legate respond to your reports?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Do you think he can even hear what we're saying?"

She rolled her eyes. It was such a familiar action... such a _Cardassian_ action... that his own eyes widened in surprise.

"Oh, he can hear us alright."

"Really? What makes you so sure?"

"Evidence to the contrary, and faith. Why do _you_ bring him fresh korat shoots?"

"Because hospital food is terrible," he shrugged.

"That it is," she agreed. "Tell me, Telor... what would it cost me to have some fresh korat shoots of my own?"

"You want me to pick some korat shoots for you too?" he asked, feeling his eyes widening again.

"If it's not too much trouble."

"It's no trouble at all!" he assured her quickly. "And it won't cost you anything. You _are_ an ambassador, after all. You're here to help my people... right?"

"I hope so," she said, though she sounded sad as she said it. "I'll tell you what; I'm due to meet with the Legate again in three days, for further reports. Why don't you join us again afterwards? The same time as today? Then we can enjoy some korat shoots together, and you can tell me more about life here on Cardassia."

"I'd love to!" he said immediately. Then he remembered that unrestrained outbursts of emotion were considered childish; not something adults should do. "I mean, that would be acceptable," he amended, as calmly as he could manage.

"Splendid," she smiled. "I'll leave the two of you for now. Your father will come and glare at me if I stay much longer. But I'll see you again in three days. Until then, take care of yourself and your father, Telor."

"And you too, Ambassador," he said, standing politely as she left the small table.

"Please, call me Gin."

"Okay... Gin," he grinned.

When the woman left the room—and it seemed to him she floated elegantly, rather than walked—he discarded his half-eaten korat stalk and turned his chair around to face the bed, unable to keep the grin from his lips.

"Did you hear that, Legate?" he asked. "The Federation ambassador to Cardassia wants me to pick korat shoots for her! And she wants to talk to me again! I bet Kaskar would be jealous if he could see me now. I hope he's alive and well."

There was, of course, no response from the Legate, but there was nothing unusual about that. For the first time in weeks, his lack of response didn't even matter. Today Telor had made a new friend; a powerful and influential friend. An alien woman who talked to him as if he was an adult, and treated him almost like an equal. The future was looking brighter all the time.

o - o - o - o - o

Never in Telor's life had he known three days to drag on as they had done since meeting Gin. He'd hesitated in telling his father about their encounter, because he knew he would get into trouble for interrupting her meeting with the Legate, but also because he rather liked having his own little secret. None of the doctors and nurses, not even his own father, had mentioned Gin to him. Perhaps they thought that, as a child, he wouldn't be interested in alien ambassadors. But he wasn't a child, now; he was almost a man. And a man did not have to report every little thing to his father. If Gin considered their meeting relevant, she would tell his father of it herself. Otherwise, what they discussed, he decided, was their business alone.

On the morning of the third day he set off from the hospital, leaving by the back gate and making his way towards the outskirts of the city with his small bag over his shoulder. As he travelled further away from the building, the desperate cries of the petitioners grew fainter and fainter, until at last he could no longer hear them calling out for Legate Damar. He didn't know who had leaked the news of Damar's presence to the general populace, but he knew that Garak blamed Amaro.

For over an hour he occupied himself with cutting korat shoots from their parent plants, storing them carefully inside his bag. He collected far more than he usually would, because he guessed that Gin might like to take some back to the embassy with her, to enjoy later. Knowing that she would be enjoying something only he could provide—fresh, at least—made him feel warm and happy inside, though he didn't know why. Part of him suspected that it was because she reminded him a little of his mother, but he also realised that he liked helping people. He liked knowing that he was improving somebody's life, even if it was only in a small way. Was this how his father felt, when treating patients? Was this why he had become a doctor in the first place?

The discovery of rulot seeds made him happier still, and he picked several of the large pods, wedging them into his bag beside the bundle of korat shoots. He didn't know if Gin liked rulot seeds, but he himself loved them. Half the challenge was in opening them without damaging them, but the rewards were worth the effort; a bitter-sweet juice and delicious pulpy flesh. He liked them even more than he liked korat.

He set off back to the hospital in plenty of time, and entered unchallenged through the back gate. The guards were more than used to his comings and goings, and they knew that he picked korat for the Legate. As far as they were concerned, as long as he was keeping out of trouble, he was welcome to come and go as he pleased, and they greeted him as he returned.

Barely able to contain his excitement, he hurried through the corridors until he reached Damar's room, then pressed the button to open the door. As soon as it slid open he heard Gin talking, and saw her reading from her pad as she paced in front of the window. For a moment he feared he'd made a mistake, but she gestured for him to enter as she finished reciting her pad's information.

"And last of all, there is widespread starvation around the Kolyat region, but we're expecting a shipment of replicators within the next three days. Hopefully once they've been installed, they'll help to alleviate some of the suffering there. In the meantime, we've distributed as many rations as possible, and instructed the people to ensure the children are fed first, along with the ill and the infirm. The water supply remains clean, so we shouldn't have any problems with dehydration or disease. I believe that sums up everything I needed to advise you about." Taking a deep breath, she turned towards Telor, where he was seated once more at the small table. "Good afternoon, Telor. I trust you're well?"

"Yes, thank you. And you?" he asked.

"Being driven to distraction by certain members of your coalition council," she said in a dry tone, "but otherwise I'm fine."

"I picked the korat shoots you wanted," he said.

"I knew you would," she responded with a smile. Turning off her datapad, she took the seat opposite him. "Before we turn our attention to the finer things in life, such as korat shoots, I was wondering if I could talk to you about some things."

"What sort of things?" he asked, knowing that he sounded defensive. In his experience, when an adult wanted to talk to you about something they considered important, it usually wasn't good.

"I'd like to know what happened on the night you saved Legate Damar's life. I've heard some of it from Garak, and a little from your father, but you're the only one who was really there."

"Is this going to go in a Federation report?"

"Only if you want me to put it in one," she assured him.

He glanced at Legate Damar, who was still staring through the foot of his bed. "He's a hero," he said.

"I know," Gin replied. "But from what I hear, you're a hero too."

Telor shook his head and stood up, going to stand beside the window so that he could look out. Memories of that night flooded his mind, making his heart ache. They were difficult memories... difficult nightmares to live with. That night, he had learnt what a true hero was made of, and he knew he wasn't it.

He swallowed, and turned to face Gin. "A man died," he said, still feeling the bitterness of that death even now. "A man died so that Legate Damar could live. That man is the hero. Not me."

"Will you start at the beginning?" she asked gently.

"I... yes, I can start at the beginning," he relented. "My father and I were at home when the power went out. Everything was dark, and I was afraid. When the power was restored, the viewer came on. That Vorta... Weyoun... he was on the screen." He felt his hands clench into fists at the thought of that smug alien lording it over the 'lowly' Cardassians. "He said that Lakarian city had been destroyed."

"I know about that," Gin said, her eyes looking pained. "You can skip that part."

He nodded, thanking her for not making him relive that particular moment again. "There was a knock at the door, and my father opened it. Four rebels were standing outside, one of them injured. His leg had been blown off somehow, at the knee."

"That must have been a difficult thing to witness."

Telor shrugged. "Not really. I've always helped my father out in the clinic. I'm used to seeing blood, although I'd never seen a limb removed before. Anyway, my father told me to bring a triage kit to the clinic. But before I did, I saw movement outside the Dominion headquarters, and I knew it was Damar's resistance. I... I disobeyed my father." The thought was enough to make him hang his head in shame. "I went outside. I saw them attack the compound. I saw two men shot by the Jem'Hadar – one of them Legate Damar. But I couldn't just leave him there. I don't know why I went to him, but I did. And when I realised he was still alive, I took him back to my father. I knew my father would save him."

"That can't have been an easy task," she said, her grey eyes full of sympathy.

"To be honest, I remember little of the journey back. It was only several streets, but it felt like several lightyears. I kept expecting the Jem'Hadar to see me and shoot me, but they didn't. Back at the house, I told my father to save the Legate. The man with the severed leg said the same thing. He said his life was unimportant, that we needed to save the Legate, so that he could lead us into the future. I thought my father would disagree, but in the end, he relented."

Telor stood and began pacing the room. What had happened next had been difficult to watch; even more difficult than watching the Jem'Hadar running the three Cardassian soldiers through the chest with their blades.

"My father worked on Legate Damar. He told me to take care of the man with the severed leg. I did as I had been instructed. I put a tourniquet on the leg. I raised both legs above the level of his chest. I lay him down flat, and covered him with a blanket so he would not go into shock as easily."

"You don't need to continue, Telor," Gin said gently.

"Yes, I do!" he insisted, sounding angry to his own ears. "My father was there, but we haven't talked about it. Nobody has talked about it. But I want to. The man I was helping... he died. I don't know why. He lost too much blood, or his heart stopped, or he went into shock, or couldn't take the pain anymore. I told my father that I needed help... he told me that if he helped me, Legate Damar would die. That this was the price we had to pay for our decisions. I just keep thinking, maybe there's something else I could have done. Something to have saved that man's life. He died right in front of me, and there was nothing I could do but watch him slip away."

"Sometimes," Gin said, "doctors can seem to work miracles. Two men could have died, that night. One man didn't. If you ask me, that itself is a miracle."

"I don't believe in miracles," he replied, dropping back into his chair. "A miracle is something fantastic happening. A miracle would be Legate Damar being completely recovered."

"Recovery can be a long, slow process," she said sadly, and it made him wonder if she'd ever had to recover from something similar, or known somebody who had. Before he could ask, however, she continued. "Thank you for telling me what happened that night. Now, why don't we have some of that korat you've collected, and talk about something more pleasant?"

He opened his bag and brought out the bundle of korat shoots, handing one to her and keeping one for himself. "Is it true that there's starvation near Kolyat?" he asked.

"That is not 'something more pleasant'," she replied in a chastising tone.

"Maybe not, but I want to know."

"In truth, there's a lot of starvation on Cardassia Prime right now. It's not too bad here in the city, but a lot of the planet's infrastructure was destroyed by the Dominion orbital bombardment. Many people are still without an adequate supply of food or water."

He looked down at the korat shoot in his hand. Suddenly it didn't taste so nice. He'd had no idea that Cardassians were going hungry. Inside this hospital, isolated from the world outside, he'd just presumed that it was business as normal everywhere else. If Kaskar was alive, was he starving right now? If so, what would he think about his friend sitting here and enjoying korat whilst everyone else was struggling to find enough nourishment to survive?"

"You won't help anybody by going hungry, Telor," Gin said, and he wondered how she had so accurately guessed his thoughts. He glanced up at her grey eyes, and wondered if she was perhaps part Betazoid. "Your father is helping a lot of people right now, and to do that, he needs you. Without you, he would have no will to live. You owe it to him to help him... to stay strong for him. It's not easy for him, being here, seeing so many people pass. Seeing his own people go hungry, and die of fever. It's not easy for any of us."

"Then why do I feel so bad, for sitting here with you, eating this food?"

"Guilt is a natural part of the grieving process. That you are capable of feeling it shows that you are a caring, compassionate person. Somebody who, I think, your father can be proud of."

"Maybe," he replied. Then, to change the subject, he reached into his bag and brought out some of the rulot seeds. Each of them was slightly smaller than the palm of his hands, brown and hard, and covered with a stringy outer shell. He handed one to Gin, kept one for himself, and due to the lack of space, deposited the rest on the side of the Legate's bed. "I picked these, as well as the korat," he explained. "They're rulot seeds."

"I've heard of them, but I've never seen them before," she admitted, turning the large seed over in her hand to examine it from all angles. "What do I do with it?"

"Well, if you _really_ want to, you can strip its skin off with your teeth. But it can hurt your teeth to do it that way. I prefer to use a knife." He took a small switch-knife from his bag and revealed the blade, then demonstrated how to peel the shell off by inserting the blade into the hard skin. "Here, you try," he said, handing the knife to her.

She was apparently a quick study; it didn't take her long to get the hang of skinning the seeds, and soon she was biting into one. As soon as she did, a small spray of juice shot out from the side and made her jump. Then she laughed at her own actions.

"Is it supposed to do that?" she chuckled, wiping her slightly damp sleeve on her trouser leg.

"The best ones do. It shows they're ripe."

"It's an incredibly messy food, but it tastes nice enough," she replied, biting into it with more success this time.

Telor did likewise with his own, chewing on the flesh of the seed for a moment. Then, from the corner of his eye, he caught a small movement. Very, very slowly, he turned his head a little, and saw that Legate Damar had moved. Not by much; only enough to look down at the rulot seeds on the side of his bed, but it made him hold his breath in anticipation. Gin, however, seemed not to have noticed the Legate's reaction.

"They remind me a little of papaya," she said, her concentration fixed on the seed in her hands. "They're a sort of juicy fruit found in tropical regions of Earth."

Telor tried to reply and swallow his mouthful of rulot seed at the same time, and when he saw Legate Damar pick up one of the seeds, he also inhaled in surprise. The result was that the rulot got lodged in his throat and he began to cough and choke. Gin acted immediately, stepping towards the replicator.

"Water," she said, and a glass appeared, which she plucked from the machine and thrust into his hands. "Drink this. I have no idea if the Heimlich manoeuvre works on Cardassians, and I'd rather not have to find out."

Clutching at the water, he gulped it down, and felt the blockage clear. Finally able to breathe again, he gasped in air, and turned his head again to observe Legate Damar, who was still holding, and looking at, the seed in his hand. He opened his mouth to express his surprise, but was stopped by a firm hand on his arm. Turning back to Gin, he found her watching him intently, her first finger pressed against her lips to indicate silence as her eyes slid ever so slightly towards the Legate.

"As I was saying," she continued, as if absolutely nothing had happened, "I think these rulot seeds taste like a mixture of papaya and mango, with the hard outer shell of coconut. It's an unusual combination, but not unpleasant. Are they common in this area?"

"I think so," he replied, his gaze torn between the ambassador and the Legate. "I only saw them by chance, and I thought they might be something new for you to try."

"How thoughtful," Gin smiled. "Thank you for thinking of me."

"Would you... ah... like another?" he asked.

"Yes, I'd love one."

He plucked one of the seeds from the bed, unnoticed or ignored by Legate Damar, and gave it to Gin, who quickly peeled it and handed back the knife.

"Perhaps Legate Damar would like one too," she said. Telor nodded, and reached for a seed, but was stopped by her hand on his arm again. "Are you a Ferengi female?" she asked.

"Err... no?" Wasn't it obvious to her that he wasn't?

"And is this Ferenginar?"

"I don't even know what Ferenginar looks like," he said defensively.

"It's always raining, and quite warm. At any rate, on Ferenginar, the females pre-chew the food for their male relatives. Since we're _not_ on Ferenginar, and you're not a Ferengi female, I don't think you should do that. If the Legate wants a rulot seed, he can peel it himself. Give him the knife."

He hesitated. Giving a knife to a man whose mental state was in question did not sound like a good idea, even if that man _was_ the leader of Cardassia. But Gin nodded, her eyes urging him on. His father had told him more than once to listen to and obey his elders. Besides, Gin was nice. She wouldn't ask him to give a knife to the Legate if there was any chance of him doing something dangerous with it. Slowly, he placed the knife on the bed beside the seeds, and withdrew his hand, watching Legate Damar like a hawk.

"What sort of dishes can be created using rulot seed?" Gin asked.

Try as he might, he couldn't keep one eye on the Legate and also look at Gin, so he briefly tore his eyes away from the Cardassian leader so that he could answer the ambassador.

"Lots of things. Sweet and savoury pies, depending on how the seeds are prepared. They can be put into soups, to thicken them, or made into a dessert."

"I'll have to see what recipes my replicator has when I return to the embassy," she mused as she put aside her empty rulot shell. "The menus have been rather hit and miss so far."

"You're leaving _now_?" he asked, quickly looking back to the Legate. His heart sank when he saw that Damar was no longer holding one of the rulot seeds; he'd returned to his former position, staring dumbly at nothing.

"Yes, I'm afraid I have much to do. But I have enjoyed your company, Telor. Would you mind walking me back to the transporter room? I'm afraid I get turned around so easily in this place."

"Okay," he sighed, and collected the remaining rulot seeds and the knife from the bed. He couldn't leave them there in case his father came in and saw them, and he got into trouble. "Will you come back again, though?"

"Of course," she said, standing with a smile as she picked up her pad. "In three days."

He led her from the room feeling both elated and disappointed. For a moment, he'd really thought that Legate Damar would eat one of the rulot seeds. But on the other hand, he'd just done more in five minutes than he had for the past two months. Perhaps Gin was right. Perhaps the Legate's recovery was just going to be a slow one. Despite his father's assurances that the Legate hadn't suffered any neural damage during his several moments of death, Telor couldn't help but worry.

"I think it would be best if we didn't mention this to anybody else," Gin said, as she walked beside him.

"Why not?"

"What do you think will happen if the council learn that Legate Damar appears to be responding to external stimuli?"

"They'll come here and start poking him and harassing him again," he realised. "But shouldn't we at least tell my father?"

Gin stopped, and looked down at him. Not a tall woman, she didn't have far to look.

"I will understand if you feel the need to tell your father," she said. "But by his own admittance, Doctor Rokann has already done everything he can for the Legate. I fear that further medical testing might not be beneficial right now."

"Why do you think Legate Damar finally reacted to something?"

Gin shrugged. "Maybe he really likes rulot seeds. Perhaps, when I am gone, you might spend more time with the Legate. See if you can find anything else to grab his attention."

"I will. I'll do my best, I promise," he swore, and she gave him another smile that lit up her grey eyes.

"I know you will. Now, I don't really need you to walk me to the transporter room. I know where it is. I'll leave you here and let you get on with things. When I see you in three days, you can tell me of your progress."

"Gin," he said, realising she might be able to help him, but cautious of asking for a favour from her. "I have a friend... his name is Kaskar Obek. He was on the streets not far from the Dominion headquarters with his brother, on the night of the rebellion. I... I don't even know if he survived."

"I'll make some enquiries," she promised him.

"Thank you," he said. His heart suddenly felt a little lighter, as if some heavy weight had been lifted from his body. If Kaskar was dead, finding out would at least be closure. And if he was alive, then perhaps his father would let him stay here, and help take care of Legate Damar.

He watched Gin as she disappeared down the corridor. It was odd, how quickly he'd come to accept her presence. For all her strange appearance, sometimes it was hard for him to remember that she wasn't Cardassian.

o - o - o - o - o

When Gin left the embassy she found a soldier waiting for her. There was always a soldier waiting for her, on the days when she travelled to the council command centre. Though it was only a few streets away, Gul Amaro seemed to think she couldn't be trusted to walk the streets alone. Or perhaps Garak thought that it wasn't safe enough for her to walk without an escort. She had yet to ask the soldiers who was giving them orders, so she didn't know whether they were there for her protection, or to keep an eye on her.

She was starting to get used to the heat of Cardassia Prime, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get used to seeing hungry, dusty children and despondent adults. Though the Federation relief effort was making a small impact, reconstruction in all of the major cities was slow. The coalition council's influence barely extended beyond the centre of Lakat city itself. And they still spent more time bickering than they did helping and making decisions.

Garak was waiting to greet her at the council gates; he and Amaro both insisted on going with her to the hospital every time she reported to Legate Damar, though the elder Rokann prevented them from actually being in the room at the time. She didn't know if the two council members also visited Damar in their own time, trying to appeal to him to get better and return to leadership, but she suspected their visits were still a fairly regular occurrence. Both men knew that without Legate Damar, the chances of forming a working government were slim. They needed a figurehead. A hero. Somebody the people would look up to and listen to. And if one of them was there to 'advise' the Legate on important matters of state... all the better.

"You're looking well, Ambassador," Garak said, casually assessing her appearance. "It seems time on Cardassia is doing you good."

"Flattery?" she snorted. "You're not usually so obvious, Garak. What is it that you want?"

"Nothing that I want, I can assure you. Rather, something that you asked of me. Regarding the fate of a young man fighting on the streets during the uprising?"

"You've found Kaskar Obek?" she asked, following him into the building.

"In a manner of speaking. He and his twin brother are buried in a cemetery on the outskirts of the city, along with hundreds of other Cardassians who were killed in Lakat that night."

"You're sure he's dead?"

"Quite."

Gin sighed. She was going to have to break the news to Telor that his friend was dead. It wasn't going to be easy; the young man already felt guilty about living in comfort while the rest of his people suffered hardship. The only other alternative she had was to tell him that she was still looking. That in the chaos, it was hard to find an individual Cardassian. But that would be lying, and she hated lies. She couldn't bring herself to lie to a child, not even to spare his feelings.

"I'm sorry," Garak said. "I can see this news disturbs you."

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "It does. But right now, I have other things to think about. Is Gul Amaro not joining us today?"

"He is. He decided to wait in the transporter room. He's getting more and more impatient with every passing day. And more desperate, too. I would watch myself around him, if I were you."

"Thanks for the advice. Well, let's get this over with, shall we?"

He nodded and led her to the transporter room where, as he had promised, Amaro was waiting. Gin did not have to wait long to receive some of his impatience.

"It took you long enough to get here, Ambassador," he scowled. "I could almost think you don't _want_ to make your reports today."

"Do you fear Legate Damar will have got up and walked off, Gul Amaro?" she asked.

"Of course not. But I'm a busy man. I have better things to do than escort a Federation bureaucrat around a hospital."

"If you wish to stay behind, I'm sure Garak wouldn't mind escorting me alone."

"You must think me a fool, to trust the pair of you alone with Legate Damar. No. I'll go. And I'll be keeping a very close eye on you."

She didn't bother with a reply; Amaro _always_ kept a close eye on her. He seemed to think she was putting on an act, playing some game to keep the Cardassians off guard before making her move. What exactly that move was supposed to be, she had no idea.

When all three of them stepped onto the pad, they were sent to the hospital, where Dr Rokann was waiting for them. Though he didn't smile—he never did, as far as Gin knew—she nevertheless believed that he was glad to see them. Or at least, glad to see her. From what she had gathered, he was thoroughly fed up with both Amaro and Garak.

"Ambassador," Rokann said, "the Legate is waiting for you. I believe you know the way."

"Yes, doctor," she replied, and left him with the two men. She walked the familiar halls, for once not looking forward to her meeting with the Legate. As excited as she was about Damar's previous reaction, she knew that Telor would be bitterly disappointed over news of his friend's death. Her only hope was that perhaps Telor might not come today... but it as a coward's hope, and one that shamed her.

Legate Damar was, as usual, lying in bed, staring at nothing, and that didn't change when she entered the room, or when she launched into her long list of reports. Ship movements, relief efforts, diplomatic requests, medical status updates... nothing she mentioned elicited any sort of reaction from him. It was both frustrating and disappointing, but she wasn't going to give up any time soon. So far she had managed to keep Damar's existence from the Federation, because she wanted something positive to report. What she _wanted_ to report was that Legate Damar was alive and well, and busy building a new Cardassia. To have to report that he'd survived the rebellion but was now in a near catatonic state, unable to do anything except lie in bed, felt like a failure on her behalf.

When she had finished her reports, she put down her pad and stood in front of the window, looking out at the scenery. This room was at the back of the hospital, so she couldn't see the petitioners out front, but she knew they were there. They had been there, camped out, waiting for their hero to return to them, ever since they had discovered he was alive. To say they were dedicated was an understatement. So far they had been waiting peacefully, but she didn't know how long the peace would last. Desperate people were capable of desperate acts, and if they thought Damar was avoiding them, they might grow angry. Maybe even violent. Civil unrest was not something Cardassia could afford. It had enough problems already.

"Good morning, Gin," Telor said. His entrance interrupted her reverie, and she watched as he greeted the Legate and put his bag down on the table. "Have you ever had boiled taspar eggs?" he asked her.

"I can't say that I have," she said, working up the nerve to broach a difficult subject.

"I found a nest on my way back from picking korat, and I thought you might like to try one. Of course, you'll have to take them back to the embassy and boil them first, they taste revolting when they're raw."

"Telor—" she began, but he was oblivious to her sombre mood.

"I can give you some recipes for your replicator, if you like. They taste good with yamok sauce, or—"

"Telor," she reiterated more firmly. He looked up at her in surprise. "We need to talk."

"What's happened?" he asked, a look of caution and unease flickering across his face. "I know what 'we need to talk' means. It means something bad has happened."

"It's about your friend... Kaskar. I'm afraid he's dead. He and his brother were killed during the uprising," she said, as gently as she could manage.

"Oh." The change in the boy was immediate. The smile disappeared from his lips, the glimmer of hope disappearing from his brown eyes, replaced by emptiness. His body stiffened and his hands clenched into fists. When he spoke again, his voice was flat, emotionless. "I see."

"I'm truly sorry," she said. "I wish I could have brought you better news."

"Bad news is better than no news," he said. The disappointment on his face was almost heart-breaking, and she took a step towards him. "I don't want your sympathy," he said, backing away with a scowl. "I just want to be left alone."

He turned and left the room before she could even call out for him to stop, and the door closed behind him. Even when he was gone, she felt his pain as if it were her own, and knowing there was nothing she could do about it made her feel small and weak. The medical equipment, beeping and whistling away, seemed to be laughing jovially, mocking her. She turned back to the window, to the view of the dry, red hills that rolled off into the distance.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times," she said quietly to herself. She should not have been the one to break news about Kaskar to Telor. She should have told his father, and asked him to pass it on. But she'd thought that she could handle it herself. She'd thought that she could comfort Telor if he grew upset. She would know better, next time.

There was no point in staying, now. Telor would not come back; he had a friend to mourn. And Damar was as unresponsive as ever to her presence. She turned back to look at him for a moment. His blue eyes were unfocused, staring at nothing, his face blank, devoid of any emotion at all. Stopping by his bed, she look down at him.

"I hope that wherever you are now, you're happy," she said. "Because there is no happiness to be found here."

She walked back to the transporter room and did not speak as she stepped onto the transporter pad. Whether the three men picked up on her dark mood, or whether they merely had nothing to say to her, she did not know, but they offered her no words when she returned. In the mood for neither conversation nor company, Gin excused herself as soon as she, Garak and Amaro were transported back to the council building, claiming a large workload that she needed to start on. Her escort left her outside the embassy, but despite her best intentions, she didn't get any work done that day. Her mind was too consumed with thoughts of Telor, and how Cardassia was ever going to recover from the blow dealt to them by the Dominion.

* * *

_Author's Note: A big thank-you to everyone who's read and reviewed so far. I hope you've enjoyed this latest chapter. I'm purposely trying to keep author-notes to a minimum, as I feel they can interrupt the flow of a story. I just wanted to drop a quick note in here to say how great it is to see so many readers from so many different countries checking this story out (and hopefully liking what they're reading). Good night/morning/afternoon (delete as appropriate for your location) for now, and catch you next week!  
_


	4. Desperate Times

Restoration

_ 4. Desperate Times_

Telor sat in the hospital's spacious garden feeling lost and alone. It had been two days since Gin had told him the news of Kaskar's death, and he'd had nobody to talk to about it. His father had been busy tending patients—apparently there was an outbreak of some disease in the city—and all of the other doctors had been similarly occupied. Gin had not been back since, but if her schedule remained true, she'd probably come back tomorrow, to report to Damar. Telor had spent some time with the Legate, talking to him about unimportant things such as the weather, and how well the flowers were growing in the garden, but he might as well have been talking to a wall, for all the response he got.

It was so frustrating! Here, in the hospital, he had very little idea about what was happening in the rest of the city, or on the rest of the planet. He was cut off. Isolated. Yesterday he'd gone to the front gates, to see if he could get answers out of some of the petitioners, but as soon as they saw him they'd bombarded him with questions; Where was Legate Damar? Why wasn't he here to speak to them? Were rumours of his survival nothing more than lies? Overwhelmed, he'd retreated back into the hospital. Now, the cries of the petitioners were still audible, but dim, and he ignored them as best he could, focusing instead on the songs of the birds which flitted through the trees.

Kaskar was dead. Yes, Telor had had other friends, but Kaskar had been his _best_ friend. They were as close as brothers. And now Telor was alone. If Kaskar was dead, his other friends probably were too. Everybody was abandoning him. First his mother, then Kaskar. His father was too busy to see him, Legate Damar was in some sort of waking coma, and Gin could only find time to stop by once every three days. It wasn't fair. Why had the Dominion done this? Why had they tried to wipe out his people? Why had they killed helpless men, women and children? Not even Klingons were cruel enough to slaughter the helpless.

"Did he say when they're moving him?" asked a voice, and Telor froze. From his sitting place, on one of the higher branches of a tree in the garden, he could see everything down below him, though he was screened from view by a large collection of leaves in front of him. Now, he saw two of the younger doctors walking by; they must have been off-duty, because they weren't wearing their medical uniforms.

"Tomorrow afternoon, once the Ambassador's gone," the second man said.

"That's a shame," replied the first doctor. "I really hoped he'd come around. Still, I suppose it will make things a little quieter around here. Once the crowd outside realise Legate Damar's been moved to a new location, they'll go back to their homes and stop making so much noise."

Telor's heart was pounding in his chest as he watched the two men leave, their next words lost to his ears. _Legate Damar was being moved?_ It couldn't be! If he was moved, Telor wouldn't be able to see him every day. Gin wouldn't come to give her reports. The Legate would never recover... he could only imagine what sort of place the Legate would be moved to. High security, no windows, even worse food than what the hospital provided...

He couldn't let it happen. He had to speak to his father. Merak Rokann would know what to do.

He climbed down from the tree as swiftly as he was able, ignoring the scratches his hands received from the sharp bark. His heart still pounding, he raced into the hospital, and almost collided with the first doctor he met.

"Have you seen my father anywhere?" he demanded breathlessly.

"He's on the second floor," she replied, with a puzzled expression on her face. "Is everything okay, Telor?"

But it was too late; Telor had already rushed off towards the staircase, his legs aching as he took the stairs in pairs. "Father?" he called, when he stepped out of the stairwell and onto the second floor corridor. "Father, where are you?"

"Telor?" said one of the other doctors, sticking his head out of a room. "What's wrong, boy? You're making enough noise to wake the dead."

"Where is my father?"

"In the transporter room, seeing off a couple of council members."

Telor didn't wait for any further explanation. He set off at a fast jog, weaving his way through the corridors, dodging doctors and patients who sprang up before him. By the time he reached the transporter room he was winded and breathless, but adrenaline was coursing through his body. As the door opened before him, he shouted, "You can't move Legate Damar!"

Gul Amaro, who was standing on the transporter pad next to Garak, waiting to be dematerialised, gave a dismissive snort.

"The decision has already been made, boy."

"It's for the best, son," said his father, resting a hand on his shoulder. "The rabble outside are making daily operations difficult, and with Legate Damar's recovery looking unlikely, it's time to move him to somewhere better equipped to deal with his needs in the long-term. This is an emergency hospital, not a care centre."

"You don't understand!" he blurted out. "He _is_ getting better. He moved. The other day. I saw him!"

"The boy will say anything to keep the Legate here," Amaro said dismissively. But Garak stepped down from the transport pad, and subjected Telor to a penetrating stare. It was all Telor could do not to squirm beneath the man's cold blue eyes.

"If he moved on his own before now, why is it only now you're mentioning it?"

"Because..." he began, trying to find the best way to explain it without implicating the ambassador. But he could find no way, so he decided that it would be better to tell the truth. "Because Gin said it would be better not to tell you. She was there too. In fact," he said, grasping wildly at straws, "she's why Legate Damar moved. If you take him away, she won't be able to give him the Federation reports, and then he'll never get better!"

"Gin?" Garak asked, clearly confused.

"Ambassador Fox," he elaborated.

"I think you had better tell us everything," his father said, and Telor could tell he was not pleased about this deception. "From the beginning."

And so he did. He told them of how he'd met Gin, and the things they'd talked about, and how she'd expressed an interest in fresh korat stalks. He told them how he'd brought her rulot seeds too, and how Legate Damar had picked one up and examined it for several minutes. Then he told them what Gin had said, about not telling anybody else. This last piece of information was met with mixed reactions.

"I knew that treacherous viper couldn't be trusted!" Amaro growled, his intense dislike of the ambassador finally vindicated.

"If this is true," Garak said thoughtfully, ignoring the Gul's outburst, "it changes things."

"It _is_ true!" Telor assured him.

"The ambassador is due to make another report tomorrow," Garak continued. "I suggest we install a surveillance device inside Damar's room, and observe what happens."

"This is a waste of time. Nothing will happen, because Legate Damar is _not_ recovering. There have been no changes since he was first brought here," Amaro said.

"Are you calling my son a liar, Gul Amaro?" Telor's father asked coldly.

"I believe he has an over-active imagination, and that he doesn't want the Legate to leave. If I was his age, I wouldn't either."

"I _don't_ have an over-active imagination," Telor insisted firmly. "If you don't believe me, ask Gin."

"I intend to," Garak said. "For the moment, I need to return to command and arrange for unobtrusive surveillance equipment to be found." He stepped up onto the transporter. And was joined a moment later by Amaro.

"This is going to be a waste of time. Mark my words," the Gul said.

When the two men were transported from the room, Telor turned to his father. "Are you angry with me?" he asked.

"Why didn't you tell me about what happened?"

"I... Gin said you'd done everything you could for Legate Damar, and that the last thing he needed was more medical tests, or the council interfering with him. And... I agreed. If I thought there was something else you could have done, I would have told you, I promise."

"Then no, I'm not angry with you." He clapped a hand onto his son's shoulder. "You had a patient's best interests at heart. I can't fault your reasoning. Now, I have patients to see. This new virus is proving quite aggressive."

"Is there anything you need me to do?" he asked eagerly, glad that his father wasn't disappointed with him.

"No, son. Just... try to keep out of trouble. At least until the ambassador gets here tomorrow. After that... we'll see."

His father left him, limping off down towards the quarantine wards, and Telor made his way to Legate Damar's room. His stomach felt suddenly queasy, and he knew why. He'd told his father and the council members that Legate Damar would do something tomorrow, that he'd give some sort of reaction to Gin's reports. But he wasn't at all convinced that anything of the sort would happen. Legate Damar had reacted to rulot seeds, not Federation reports. If nothing happened tomorrow, Amaro and Garak would move the Legate.

When he reached the room, he opened the door and stepped inside, approaching the man on the bed.

"Legate Damar?" he said hesitantly. The man's face did not change. "Legate, Gin's coming back tomorrow, but if you don't do something, the council are going to take you away, and I don't want you to go away. I... Cardassia... needs you. You need to get better. Just tell me what to do, what you need, and I'll do it. Just do something tomorrow. It doesn't matter what. Look up, drink something, say something... anything will do."

He watched the Legate's face for any sign that his words had been heard, but there was nothing. With a sigh, Telor left the room. He couldn't stay here all day or he'd go crazy. Perhaps, he thought, he would go to pick some korat shoots. Maybe that would help take his mind off the enormity of the task that lay before him.

o - o - o - o - o

Gin stared at her communications console, at the latest request from the Federation council. So far, everything they had sent, she had been able to handle, and most of it had been quite easy to deal with; relief updates, ship routes, exchanges of information... nothing out of the ordinary. This, however... this was something new. Something big. And she was just a little afraid that she'd gotten herself up a creek without a paddle. In fact, she was so concerned with reading the report that she didn't even see Garak enter the embassy, and it wasn't until he was standing in the doorway politely clearing his throat that she realised she was no longer alone. She quickly deactivated her comm screen and leant back in her chair.

"Garak? To what do I owe the pleasure?" she asked.

"I've just had a rather interesting conversation with Telor Rokann," he said, stepping into her office.

"Oh?" she asked, feigning surprise.

"He claims that Damar had some sort of reaction to your presence several days ago."

"Wishful thinking, I fear," she said, with a small smile.

"Are you saying the boy is lying?"

"No. Just that he misinterpreted what happened. I've given Legate Damar many reports, and he's never reacted to any of them. I suspect he was reacting more to the boy's presence than to mine."

"But Telor has spent a lot of time with Damar... indeed, it's sometimes hard to pry the boy away from him. And this sort of thing has never happened before. What makes you think Damar reacted to the boy, and not you?"

She shrugged. "Just a feeling. But tell me... you knew Damar before Dr Rokann saved his life. What do _you_ think he reacted to?"

"Oh, it's not like we were best friends," Garak said dismissively. "Truth be told, we rarely spoke to each other."

"You spent nearly three months in his resistance cell, and rarely spoke to each other?"

"We didn't really get along," Garak smiled coldly.

Gin sighed. She hated playing games. "I understand that he killed the woman you loved," she said, bringing the elephant into the open. "I'm surprised you didn't kill him for that. What stopped you?"

"I hoped that he might be the man to free Cardassia from Dominion rule, so I put my personal feelings aside."

"And now? If he makes a full recovery?"

"Personally, I think there's already been too much Cardassian blood spilt. If you're asking if I'm going to take revenge... then the answer is no. The man who killed Ziyal died long before Damar was shot by Dominion phasers."

"I'm glad to hear it. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, thank you. I trust you'll be making another report at the hospital tomorrow?" he asked with a too-casual expression.

"As usual, yes."

"Then I'll see you at the council command in the morning."

When Garak left, she mulled over the conversation in her mind. She'd half expected him to be angry that she hadn't told him about Damar's reaction. To accuse her of operating behind the council's back. Behind _his_ back. But he hadn't made any accusations... so what new game was he playing at now?

o - o - o - o - o

Sleep did not come easily for Gin that night. Very soon, things were going to change. She was going to have to be a part of that change, to help Cardassia come to terms with it, but she didn't know how she was going to manage it. The council was still woefully ill-equipped to deal with minor affairs, much less affairs of galactic importance. And now that the council knew that Damar might be getting better, they'd refocus their efforts on hounding him into submission, rather than turning their attention to where it was needed; the problems faced by the Cardassian citizens.

Unable to lie in her too-hot bed any longer, she got up and dressed and then downloaded the daily reports onto her datapad. She requested a Bajoran dish—hasperat soufflé—from the replicator, because she felt like eating something other than Cardassian food for a change. She managed only half of it before her unease began to unsettle her stomach, and she switched to drinking water instead.

When her escort appeared, she allowed him to lead her through the familiar streets to the council building, where both Garak and Amaro were waiting for her. The former was wearing his usual smile, and while the latter looked as ill-tempered as ever.

"Let's get this over with," Amaro grumbled.

"Forgive him, he woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," Garak said.

"You almost sound like you don't _want_ Legate Damar to recover, Gul Amaro," Gin accused.

"Of course I want him to recover. But before you even arrived on Cardassia, we'd already tried everything we could think of, everything Damar has had an appreciation for in the past—regova eggs with yamok sauce, various vintages of kanar, beautiful women—and none of them elicited any response. I believe this is merely some fanciful machination of yours, and that you've roped the boy into it with false hope and empty promises."

"You just can't stand the fact that Damar might find Federation reports more interesting than your bluster," Garak sniped at the man.

"I didn't see him responding to _your_ wheedling, Garak," Amaro growled back.

"Perhaps we should go," she suggested, and set off towards the transporter room. They both caught up with her in a few strides, and they continued in silence. In the transporter room, they all stepped up onto the pad and were sent several miles, to the hospital. When Gin rematerialised, she was surprised to find both Dr Rokann and Telor waiting. She did not have to wait long for an explanation.

"I asked Dr Rokann to bring Telor with him today," Garak explained. "I'd like Telor to be present during your debriefing."

"You want me to report important strategic Federation information in the presence of a civilian?"

"Just this one, if you please. It's not like he's got anybody to tell all the Federation's secrets to. Right, Telor?"

The boy nodded his head earnestly.

"I was not consulted about this," Amaro objected.

"Because it did not concern you," Garak inserted smoothly. He turned back to Gin. "Please, Ambassador, humour me."

"Very well," she sighed. "Come on, Telor."

She gestured for him to follow her, and they left the three men.

"I'm sorry, Gin," Telor hissed quietly as soon as they were further down the corridor. "I didn't want to tell them about what happened, but I had to. They were going to move him to another facility!"

"What?" She stopped walking, and he followed suit. "Why?"

"They thought he wasn't recovering. They wanted to move him somewhere more long-term. Even my father agreed it would be best. I had to do something. I told them that it was you Legate Damar was responding to. Now, Garak's put a surveillance device inside the room. I'm afraid that if the Legate stays unresponsive, they'll take him away. We can't let that happen, Gin!"

"Relax, Telor," she said. The boy's anxiety was palpable; his eyes were wide with fear. "If we can't stop them from taking Legate Damar, I'll do everything within my power to ensure he's given the treatment he requires."

"But Cardassia needs him! And if they take him, I won't see you again!"

"What? Of course you will. You can come and visit me at the embassy whenever you like, and when I get chance, I'll come and visit you and your father here too. Is that why you're so upset about the thought of them taking the Legate away?" He nodded, looking guilty. "Let's concentrate on one problem at a time, Telor," she said. "Now, let's go. If they're monitoring the room, they'll be expecting us there any minute now."

When he looked a little less upset she led him swiftly on, until they reached Damar's room. They let themselves in and Gin immediately looked around for the surveillance device, but couldn't see any sign of one. Whatever Garak had planted was probably small, easily concealed, and difficult to locate. Damar, on his bed, ignored them both, and Telor took a seat at the small table beneath the window while Gin slowly walked up and down the length of the room as she began reeling off her reports.

"First item of discussion is the industrial action taking place in Pallan city. Workers there are protesting against military involvement in the new council, and they refuse to return to work until the military relinquishes all right to rule. Ordinarily I wouldn't report on this, but as you probably know, Pallan city houses Cardassia's main dilithium refining plant, and dilithium shortages will affect not only the Cardassian fleet, but every ship within this sector. We'd like to see the situation resolved as soon as possible."

She glanced up and saw Telor watching the Legate like a hawk. There had been no change, so she continued. "Second, there's small amounts of unrest in Tomakan city since the Federation relief workers left. Nothing to be concerned about yet, but I believe the situation warrants close attention. And speaking of unrest, one of the villages on the outskirts of Lakarian city claims that it doesn't need the Federation's help in providing aid for its people. When relief workers approached, to try to talk to the villagers, they were shot at. Luckily nobody was killed, but the Federation wants a full report on what happened there. I've passed it on to the council for investigation for now... I felt that it was a matter best looked into by Cardassian security forces."

From the corner of her eye she saw Telor sit up taller; had he been a dog, his ears would have pricked. Glancing to the other side of the room, she noticed a slight change in Legate Damar's posture, and slowly walked the length of the room again, briefly examining his face as she turned. Was it her imagination, or were his eyes a little more... focused?

"Continuing," she said, "the shipyard in orbit of Cardassia Three seems to be doing well. So far, eight freighters have docked there for repairs, and two Federation starships. The freighters have been charged for parts and labour, which is bringing a small trickle of latinum into the economy, but unless the shipyards can be expanded, it won't be nearly enough to offset the costs of rebuilding on Cardassia Prime, much less the outlying colonies which have taken losses of their own.

"I'm pleased to report that, as of today, a total of twenty six food replicators have been supplied by the Federation, and twenty-four of them installed. We're expecting another four in the next relief shipment, and I'm happy to leave their distribution to the decision of the council. In addition to the replicators, we've also sent three convoys of medical supplies, clothing, and rations, along with water filtration and desalination units. I've also been advised that the Ferengi have offered to send a relief package free of cost. I believe they hope to earn the goodwill of the Cardassian Union. Which leads me to my last order of business, which I think you will like even less than I do.

"In six weeks' time there is to be a summit of Alpha and Beta Quadrant powers, in which several important topics will be discussed. The Federation Council has asked that the Cardassian Union be involved in the talks. In addition, there will be representatives from the Klingon Empire, the Romulan Star Empire, and the Ferengi Alliance. Federation officials will include a delegation from Betazed, Benzar and Coridan as well as Earth and Vulcan. There will also be representatives present from several other non-member worlds which were occupied by joint Dominion and Cardassian forces... there will be talk of reparations, I believe. Amongst other things, of course."

"You're worried about this summit, aren't you?" Telor asked, his attention now focused on her once more.

She nodded. "This coalition council can't even decide on what to call itself. How is it going to present a united front at a summit of quadrant powers? How can they speak for the people of Cardassia, when they don't have the support of the people of Cardassia? We are at a major disadvantage right now, but to not go could be even more disastrous."

"What can we do?" Telor asked.

"The only thing I can think to do is send a delegation of a single group—either civilian or military—led by one person, who will do all the talking for them. Of course, trying to get the council to agree to my idea will be a task in itself." She pulled the name of a random military council member from the top of her head. "I plan to recommend Gul Toparal as the representative during negotiations."

"Gul Toparal couldn't negotiate his way out of a bar full of Nausicaans."

Telor's eyes went wide at the sound of the Legate's voice, and he almost fell out of his seat in surprise. Gin caught his excitement, but managed to keep outwardly calm.

"Do you have a better suggestion?" she asked, watching Damar closely. His blue eyes roved over the wall at the end of the room, but he offered no further words. "Then I suppose six weeks will have to be enough time to teach Gul Toparal how to negotiate," she said at last. "Well, that sums up the last three days' worth of reports. I'll see you in another three days for an update on these situations."

She turned off her pad and gestured for the wide-eyed Telor to follow her. Risking a quick glance as the door slid shut, she saw Damar had returned to staring at nothing again. But it didn't matter. It was enough that he'd spoken, and Telor thought so too.

"Did you hear that?" he grinned happily. "He spoke! He really is getting better, isn't he?"

"I think so," she smiled, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Now, let's get back to your father. I've got a feeling that Garak and Amaro are going to have questions."

o - o - o - o - o

Later that evening, Gin paced in her bedroom within the embassy. She'd already dressed for bed and brushed her hair, but sleep, she knew, was far from near. She could still feel the nervous excitement in her body, so she decided to talk about how she felt, to record her words in the hope that some of that excitement would be captured and removed from her, allowing her some much-needed rest. Turning to her computer console, she accessed the personal log menu, and began a new recording.

"Gin Fox, personal log," she said. "Stardate... you know, I have no idea what date it is? That's the downside of being away from the Federation, I suppose. Not everybody uses our dating system. But it doesn't matter. Today, for the first time since arriving on Cardassia, I feel hope. There's something in the air, now. It was there in the hospital, and at the council command centre. For once, for a brief moment, everybody was united in joy. Doctors, military, civilians... and me, the outsider, along with them. Today, on my way back from the hospital, after news that Legate Damar had spoken had been passed around the council, I experienced a déjà vu, a feeling that I'd done this before, been here before, witnessed this happening before. Then a few moments ago, I realised why. There is a poem I read when I was a child, written by a woman called Gillian Clarke, back in the twentieth century. I'm going to recite it now, otherwise I will forget this parallel.

"An afternoon yellow and open-mouthed

with daffodils. The sun treads the path

among cedars and enormous oaks.

It might be a country house, guests strolling,

the rumps of gardeners between nursery shrubs.

I am reading poetry to the insane.

An old woman, interrupting, offers

as many buckets of coals as I need.

A beautiful chestnut-haired boy listens

entirely absorbed. A schizophrenic

on a good day, they tell me later.

In a cage of first March sun a woman

sits not listening, not seeing, not feeling.

In her neat clothes the woman is absent.

A big mild man is tenderly led

to his chair. He has never spoken.

His labourer's hands on his knees, he rocks

gently to the rhythms of the poems.

I read to their presences, absences,

to the big, dumb labouring man as he rocks.

He is suddenly standing, silently,

huge and mild, but I feel afraid. Like slow

movement of spring water or the first bird

of the year in the breaking darkness,

the labourer's voice recites The Daffodils'.

The nurses are frozen, alert; the patients

seem to listen. He is hoarse but word-perfect.

Outside the daffodils are still as wax,

a thousand, ten thousand, their syllables

unspoken, their creams and yellows still.

Forty years ago, in a Valleys school,

the class recited poetry by rote.

Since the dumbness of misery fell

he has remembered there was a music

of speech and that once he had something to say.

When he's done, before the applause, we observe

the flowers' silence. A thrush sings

and the daffodils are aflame."

"This happened today," she continued. "Gillian Clarke might well have been writing about what happened in the hospital, whilst I was reading my report to Legate Damar. And now the daffodils are aflame with hope, dancing excitedly, waiting to see what words might come next. Jocund company indeed. I just hope his recovery continues. We have only six weeks until the summit, and Cardassia has yet to establish a functioning government.

"It's strange, how an otherwise plain, unremarkable man has so captured the minds of his people. I've read the Starfleet Intelligence report on Legate Damar over and over again. His file could be that of almost any Cardassian. As a soldier he's described as competent but unimaginative. He's credited with finding a way to disable the self-replicating mines that Starfleet used to prevent the Dominion reinforcements from coming through the wormhole, but he has only standard engineering experience. The reports paint him as a poor leader, too easily swayed by others, too easily distracted by fripperies, lacking in any real authority. As a freedom fighter, his tactics were crude and devoid of creativity. So why does the whole of Cardassia apparently need him in order to survive? Could it be that in these extra-ordinary times, what we're actually short of is a good, ordinary man?

"I hope that's it. For Cardassia's sake. End log."


	5. Choices

Restoration

_5. Choices_

The following day, Gin was kept busy with reports from the relief teams out in the field and ships in orbit. Co-ordinating the relief effort was not as easy as she had first imagined it would be, but she thought she was doing an adequate job for the moment. At least, nobody had complained. Not seriously, anyway.

After she'd finished lunch, she was visited once more by Garak, and she could tell immediately, from the way he insinuated himself into her office, that he wanted something from her.

"Something I can help you with?" she asked, glancing up from her console.

"Why yes, as a matter of fact, there is." He treated her to one of his best smiles. "I was wondering if you'd join me at the hospital. I'd like you to try talking to Damar again."

"No."

"I'm sorry?" he asked, his face a mask of confusion. Clearly, to him, his request was quite sensible.

"I'm very busy. I'll make my report in another two days."

"Ahh, I see. Though, actually, I was hoping you'd talk to him about some other things. Matters of council importance."

"Talk to him yourself," she shrugged. "You've seen that he listens."

"Listening isn't the problem. It's the lack of response." His smile became a little more pained. "I've been trying since you left yesterday to get him to talk. Or even blink. It's like drawing blood from a stone. Won't you at least try?"

"No," she said flatly.

"Why ever not?"

"If I brought out a bottle of kanar and said you could drink it all, would you?" she asked.

"If it wasn't poisoned, I might consider it."

"And if I brought another bottle, and gave you that too? Would you drink that as well?"

"Depending on what sort of mood I was in... possibly," he said cautiously, clearly unsure of this strange turn in conversation.

"And if I brought out a third bottle?"

"No, I wouldn't drink the third bottle."

"Why not?"

"Because by the time it was finished, I would be violently ill."

"Then you see my point."

"I do?"

She sighed. "You _can_ have too much of a good thing. You've witnessed Legate Damar start to make a recovery, but if we push it too much now, he might just regress back to his former state. I'm not going to do your dirty work, Garak, and I'm not going to come up with excuses to speak to the Legate. You'll just have to be patient and let his recovery happen naturally."

"In case you'd forgotten," he pointed out, "we have a society to rebuild and a summit to attend in six weeks. Time may be a luxury we don't have."

"I haven't forgotten. Nor have I forgotten that the hero you want to prop up as an effigy for people to worship is also a man. A man who has clearly been through a lot, and that's not even including the fact that he died. You might be willing to break a man to save an empire, but I'm not. Any empire that needs such a sacrifice isn't worth saving. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do. I'm trying to co-ordinate the external relief efforts on your planet. If you truly care about your people, don't disturb me again for anything less than a catastrophe."

Garak left, the expression on his face both worried and bemused. Gin knew she had been hard on him, but it was necessary. As much as she preferred to avoid confrontation, she knew that sometimes, you had to push back. It soon became clear, however, that she had a lot more pushing to do. Garak had barely been gone an hour when Gul Amaro showed up. He strolled into her office cloaked in his usual air of arrogance, and put a datapad on the desk in front of her.

"What's that?" she asked, half-expecting the answer he gave.

"Some questions for Legate Damar. I would be... grateful... if you could ask them to him."

"I will do no such thing," she said. "And I'll tell you what I told Garak—"

"So," he interrupted with a sneer, "that cowardly worm has already been here, has he?"

"Yes, and he got the same response I'm giving you now. I will speak with Legate Damar in my own time. I will discuss official Federation reports and nothing else. This squabble, about whether it is the military or the civilians who should lead the government, is none of my concern. If it turns out to be the military, then I will not interfere. Nor will I interfere if the civilians come out on top. I am not here to form a government for you, but to serve the government when it is established, as a liaison between your people and mine."

"Your 'service' so far leaves much to be desired." He placed his hands on her desk and leant forward, to look her straight in the eyes. "I could make things _very_ uncomfortable for you here, Ambassador."

"What are you going to do? Switch off my air conditioning?" she asked, allowing one corner of her mouth to curl into a smile. "As it stands, your people have no official government. Until you do, any action you take is yours alone, and entirely unofficial. The question is, are you ready to try to make things uncomfortable for me, without political protection to cover your actions?"

"I'd tread carefully around the Cardassian military if I were you, Ambassador," he said, leaning back out of her personal space and standing up straight. "These are difficult times we live in."

"Wise words, Gul Amaro. I hope you remember them in the future."

When Amaro left, she leant back in her chair and exhaled slowly. She had no doubts about who, of the two potential future leaders, was the most dangerous. Amaro might be an accomplished soldier, but Garak was an accomplished survivor, and he had a knack of seeing things work out in his favour. She had a strong suspicion that this time, the civilians would be the ones left ruling Cardassia, though clearly that also depended on Legate Damar. Before turning rebel and leading a civilian uprising, he'd been a military man through and through. If Garak thought that Damar would back the civilians without question, he wouldn't be so worried about speaking to him first, or about Gul Amaro's attempts to get Damar to co-operate with the military.

Feeling a little less clean after her meetings with the two men, and possessing a desire to speak with somebody a little less politically minded, she opened her comm channel and sent a message to Lakat hospital. It didn't take long for Doctor Rokann to appear on her screen.

"Ambassador Fox!" he said with a smile. "This is a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you? Not having any medical problems, I hope?"

"No, nothing like that. And I'm sorry if I've dragged you away from your patients, but I've just been visited by Garak and Gul Amaro… independently of each other. I got the feeling they've been spending a lot of time there over the past day, so I thought I'd just check in and see how you're doing."

"Things are busier than ever," he admitted. "Those two aren't the only council members to have visited the Legate over the past day. I wish I could stop them, but so long as they don't come more than two at a time, and they don't pose any health risk, it's out of my hands."

"Couldn't you quarantine the hospital?" she asked. "Say there's an outbreak of something infectious, and that visitors aren't allowed in until it's been rectified?"

"I like the way you think, but I fear it would put the council on the warpath. Would _you_ want the saviour of Cardassia to be sitting right in the middle of a quarantine zone?"

"I suppose not," she admitted. "I'm sure Gul Amaro would storm the hospital himself if he thought it meant rescuing Legate Damar from harm."

"Indeed. Besides, a quarantine would keep everybody out, and I'm not opposed to _everybody_ visiting… only those council jackals. My son has grown surprisingly fond of you, you know," he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

"And I of him," she smiled. "He's a good boy. Very intelligent, and quite clearly brave. When he becomes a man, he's the sort of man we'll be looking to to lead Cardassia into the future."

"It would warm his heart to hear you say that."

"Apart from the council, how are things there?"

"Louder than ever. More and more petitioners are arriving every day as word of Damar's presence spreads. Bah, politicians! They manage to cause trouble even when they're not opening their mouths. No offence." She smiled. It was nice to hear an honest, forthright opinion for a change. "Anyway, I have to be going. They're bringing in a fresh batch of patients. It's going to be another long day for me. You'll be back in a couple of days for another visit, won't you?"

"That's right."

"I'm sure both the Legate and my son are looking forward to it. See you in a couple of days."

The viewscreen disappeared back into her desk, and Gin suddenly felt a little more human again. It was good to know that not everybody on Cardassia was concerned with politics and ruling the planet. Some people just wanted to live in peace. Unfortunately, she knew that unless a government was formed soon, those people would be the ones to pay the price.

o - o - o - o - o

If Gin had thought that her words to Garak and Amaro would be the last she heard of the situation, she was to be sorely disappointed. The following morning when she awoke, her comm system had been inundated by requests from various councillors asking to meet with her, or asking if she could meet with Legate Damar on their behalf. When she ignored them, they simply kept coming, and then the council members began turning up at the embassy in person. Some of them even tried to bribe her with gifts; beautiful dresses, bottles of saurian brandy, and culinary delicacies. She sent them all away, telling them that they ought to be ashamed of themselves, offering wealths as a bribe when there were people starving on Cardassia.

When they realised she would not be moved by bribery, they resorted to sending children with messages, knowing full well that she would be far more sympathetic to a hungry child. She merely fed the children from her own replicator and sent them back to the command centre. After nine or ten children had stopped by, she found herself getting angry. Jackals, Rokann had called them, and jackals they were, picking at the bones of those they considered unimportant, using anybody they could get their hands on in an attempt to get her to do their bidding. They disgusted her so much that eventually she closed the embassy, locking the doors and dimming most of the lights in the hope that they'd get the message and stop bothering her. She even considered disabling her comm unit, but decided against it. She couldn't leave herself cut off from the relief personnel on the planet and ships in orbit. Besides, she wanted to be available in case Telor or Merak tried to contact her.

That night she lay not sleeping in her bed, considering the best way to rid herself of the council and their constant haranguing. Though she was sure that eventually they would stop bothering her on their own, she knew that it wasn't likely to happen any time soon. In the end, she formulated a plan that would ensure nobody in the council _ever_ wanted her to speak to Legate Damar on their behalf again. It was a stupid plan, and she knew it, but by morning she was still angry enough to pull it off. She packed a small shoulder bag, slipped her datapad inside it, and stepped out to greet her escort for that morning. He led her without comment through the streets, and when she arrived at the council building, she found a small crowd waiting, all of them councillors. Both Garak and Amaro stepped forwards to greet her, but Garak proved slightly faster.

"Good morning, Ambassador. I trust we're going to have another eventful debriefing today?" he smiled.

"Oh, I can guarantee it," she replied with a smile of her own. It seemed to put him at ease. "Is the whole council joining us today?"

"Just a few members," Amaro said. "Others are already waiting at the hospital for us."

_Like jackals, waiting to descend on the fallen antelope,_ she thought. But what she said was, "Great. Well, shall we get going?"

The transporter pad was a little more crowded today, which meant that when the group rematerialised in the hospital, there was even less space than usual in the transporter room. Both Merak and Telor were there, and the boy smiled at her when he saw her amongst the Cardassians.

"I take it you want Telor to join me again?" she asked, as one of the hospital guards led the rest of the council out of the room.

"If you don't mind," Garak replied.

"Not at all. Telor, should we be off?"

"Sure," he grinned, and together they left the room and walked down the corridor.

"Is the surveillance equipment still inside Legate Demar's room?" she asked, once they were out of earshot of the transporter room.

"As far as I know, yes. I think the council have been using it to spy on him, but as far as I know, he hasn't moved a muscle in the past three days."

"Good." She stopped outside the Legate's door and put a hand on Telor's shoulder. "Would you do me a favour?"

"Anything," he said eagerly.

"Wait here for a moment. There's something I need to mention to Legate Damar in private, before I debrief him."

"Err, you _do_ know that what you say won't actually be private, don't you? The surveillance equipment…"

"I know." She gave him a reassuring smile. "I'll say it very quietly."

"Alright. I'll wait here for you. Will you let me know when you want me to come in?"

"Of course."

Telor stepped aside and opened the door for her, and she walked into the room. As soon as the door closed behind her, she opened one of the pouches of her bag and stuck her hand inside, closing it around the handle of the object. The Cardassians had grown complacent; they hadn't searched her. Even Amaro, so eager to see an improvement in Damar, hadn't noticed that today she carried a bag instead of a padd. As she stepped towards the Legate's bed, she drew out the small Starfleet standard-issue phaser side-arm, and dropped it onto the bed, right next to Damar's left hand. Then she waited, hoping that her body was obscuring whatever surveillance device was trained on the Legate. It didn't take long for the weapon to get his attention. He lowered his head, his eyes focusing on the small phaser.

"You are a leech on your people's resources, a parasite on Cardassian society," she said quietly. "You sit here, doing nothing, taking up space, using up valuable medicines, forcing doctors to waste their time on you when they could be saving lives. You've been through a lot, and I'm not going to lie and say that I understand what you're going through, or what you're feeling, but I _do_ know what it's like to be in such a dark place that it seems better to retreat inside your own mind, to live in the past, in better times, than to face reality.

"Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't hesitate to leave you like this for as long as necessary. But these aren't normal circumstances. Every day, Cardassians are dying of dehydration and starvation and disease and violence. Your world is falling apart. Your people need a leader. It won't be easy, but you know what? That's life. It's difficult. It's painful. You can't afford to sit here hiding any longer. It's time for you to make a decision. To stop running. To stop being a coward. Use that phaser. It's set to kill. End what's left of your life, this pitiful existence. Or make the deaths of the people you love count for something. Make the deaths of every Cardassian count for something, and help me to stop any more Cardassians dying. It's your choice."

She reached into her bag again and withdrew her datapad, dropping it onto the bed beside the phaser.

"There's your latest Federation report. It's the last one I'm bringing. If you want any more, you can come and get them yourself. I'll be in the embassy."

Turning, she opened the door and left the room without looking back. Telor, who had been leaning against the wall, stood up when he saw her, and looked at her in surprise.

"What was quick," he said. "Can we go back in now?"

"You go ahead," she said. "I have a suspicion that the council won't want me anywhere near Legate Damar for a good long time. I'll head back to the transporter room."

She left him looking thoroughly confused, returning at a fast walk to the transporter. As she suspected, she soon heard footsteps; rather a lot of them. Almost the entire council rushed past, led by Gul Amaro. He gave her an angry glare, but clearly felt that stopping Damar from potentially taking his own life was more important than apprehending the person who'd given the Legate a phaser. She made it back to the transporter room unchallenged, but found somebody waiting on the pad for her.

"I must admit, that was an interesting way to discourage the council from asking for your help in future," Garak said. "And now I think it would be best if we got you back to the embassy with all due haste. If Amaro wishes to arrest you on Federation soil, he'll have to go through the extradition process."

She stepped onto the pad beside him and waited to be energised. A few seconds later her skin began to tingle as she was dematerialised and sent miles back to the council building.

Garak wasted no time. He took her by the arm and led her swiftly from the building and out into the street. "What possessed you to give Damar a _phaser_? He might actually kill himself, you know. Unless... was its power cell removed?"

"It was a fully operational phaser," she assured him. "And whose fault would it be, if he took his own life? Mine, for handing him the weapon? Or yours, for driving him to it? You, Amaro, the rest of the council... you've been trying to force him into something. At least I gave him a choice."

"How humanitarian of you," he replied dryly. "But remind me to never end up in one of those 'desert island' scenarios with you. I don't fancy my chances of getting out of one of those alive."

They hurried in silence through the streets, with Garak constantly looking over his shoulder, as if expecting immediate pursuit. Either he was far more paranoid than she'd given him credit for, or her actions were even more foolish than she'd first suspected. It was only when they reached the embassy itself, and stepped into the safety of its entrance hall, that he let out a deep breath that he'd probably been holding since watching her toss a phaser to Legate Damar.

"Tell me something," she said, studying him as he regained his breath. "The first thing those councillors did was rush to the Legate, to stop him from firing that phaser at himself. The first thing _you_ did was rush to the transporter room to head me off. Not to help Amaro arrest me, but to bring me safely back here. Why?"

"Because I think there's a chance your _insane_ idea might just work. We've tried pandering to Damar, pleading with him, appealing to his sense of duty… insulting him and telling him to kill himself wasn't something that we'd considered, and I doubt we ever would have tried it. Now, I'm going to return to the hospital to try and contain some of the fallout from this little charade… and make sure Damar's still alive, of course. In the mean time, I suggest you don't leave the embassy. There are going to be a lot of people angry at you, for what you just did."

"I will heed your advice," she agreed, with a nod of her head.

"Oh, and I would strongly recommend you don't eat any food that brought to you as a 'gift.' It might be poisoned."

"I'll keep that in mind."

When Garak left, Gin returned to her office and sank into her comfortable chair. She was, she realised, probably insane. Even if Garak _could_ persuade Amaro not to drag her out of the embassy, arrest her and sentence her to death, he'd probably still lodge a formal complaint with the Federation Council. Or... would he? To complain would be to admit to them that Damar was still alive. It would turn the eyes of the entire Alpha Quadrant squarely to Cardassia. It would make the government he was trying to form look like a bunch of schemers, liars and manipulators. He couldn't complain about Gin without implicating himself, and others along with him.

"What tangled webs we weave, Gul Amaro," she said, smiling to herself.

o - o - o - o - o

Darkness had fallen over Lakat city, but the unofficial government headquarters were abuzz with activity. Two dozen members of the so-called government had gathered to discuss the events of the past week, and Garak watched them all as they talked at each other, each of them clamouring to be heard. He didn't even bother trying to speak, for he suspected they wouldn't hear him. Every one of them had formed their own opinions, and they would not be swayed.

"I still think we should arrest the ambassador!" Amaro shouted loudly.

"And what exactly will that achieve?" asked the white-haired Ramal Surlat. He was one of the few surviving members of the former Detapa Council, and one of only a handful of Cardassians who could stand his ground before Amaro without flinching. "We'll have to contact the Federation and request that she be extradited. Then they'll send us yet another Ambassador; maybe one who's even worse. But whilst she's here, and whilst Damar is listening to her reports, she can perhaps be of use."

"Perhaps less use than first thought," a woman spoke up. Garak did not remember her name; she was of little import. "This boy… Telor Rokann. Damar would have had a son of a similar age, wouldn't he?"

"Yes. He was killed by the Dominion during the resistance," Amaro replied.

"It could be that something about the boy speaks to Damar, on some unconscious level. Maybe we can use him to try to rouse Damar further."

Rokann was right, Garak decided. These people _were _vultures, to speak so casually of using women and children for their own ends. Of course, Garak had already considered using Telor several days ago, when he'd requested the boy be present during the ambassador's report to Damar. But that was entirely different.

"Forget about Damar," another woman said. She was younger than the first, a pretty little thing with long black hair, intricately braided behind her head. Makala, Garak recalled, though he didn't know her given name. "He'll wake when he wakes. We have a more pressing concern. Every day, word of his survival spreads, and more and more people arrive at the gates of Lakat hospital. The situation grows increasingly volatile and if they do not see Damar soon, they may turn violent."

"Let them!" Amaro blustered. "We have enough soldiers to keep order in Lakat, and can send more to the hospital if needed."

"Exactly the sort of knee-jerk response I'd expect from the military," Surlat said immediately. "Are you honestly stupid enough to use force against civilians? They aren't the enemy. They are just frightened people who have lost everything and are looking for a little hope."

"Order must be maintained," Amaro insisted. "People can't think that it's okay to turn to violence to get their own way."

"How very ironic."

As the pair fell to trading insults, and further voices were raised in agreement or condemnation, Garak left the room unnoticed. It had been like this ever since the Dominion withdrawal. Men and women who could once have only dreamed of power now tried to grab it by the handful. Every decision to be made met with half a dozen objections because everybody thought their own ways were best. It was no wonder the rebuilding of Cardassia had not yet begun; they couldn't even decide on how to lay the foundations.

He just wished he had enough support to stage a coup – the bloodless, the better. Unfortunately, most of the military personnel followed Gul Amaro, or the other high-ranking senior guls who had survived the war. As for the civilians… well, they knew he'd been a member of the Obsidian Order, before being exiled. It made them suspicious. For now, Cardassia remained fractured, and he was beginning to worry that even if Damar woke up this very evening, there might be nothing he could do to unify the empire once more.

* * *

_Author's Note: Thanks, Anon guest reviewer, for your feedback; I consider it high praise. Though I have read a few of the DS9 novels (novelisations of some of the episodes), I hadn't thought to emulate them overly much, so I'm glad you feel this story's up to a similar standard. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and rest assured, there's going to be some big changes in the next few chapters as well!_


	6. Phoenix Rising

Restoration

_6. Phoenix Rising_

There was darkness and light, and sometimes they were blended together to make grey, and at other times the darkness became the light, and the light became the darkness, swapping places so that they were indistinguishable from one moment to the next. Out of the shadows of darkness and light came voices, hauntingly familiar. Some of the names came easier than others. The first name was Gul Dukat, and the voice that came with the name spoke of great things, of making Cardassia strong, and feared, and respected.

An insipid voice countered that one, from time to time. Cardassia would never be feared, it said. Cardassia was a loyal member of the Dominion, now and forever. Nobody ever left the Dominion. The only way out was death. Surely the Cardassian people deserved more than death, didn't they?

No, replied the voice of a woman. The Cardassian people did not deserve more. They'd had their chance. They'd done terrible things during the Occupation. Millions of Bajorans had died. Some had been tortured. Even now, murder was done. It was the voice of a dead woman who spoke… he knew it, because only the dead spoke to him now. He knew it, because he had killed her, and now she haunted him more than ever, so he fled from her. Or at least, he tried.

Sometimes it wasn't voices that he heard; sometimes it was the laughter of a woman and a child; a boy, he knew. And he knew that they talked, but their voices were whispers, too faint for him to hear because they were too far away from him. Between them were all the other voices; the dead men and dead women who spoke to him, tempted him with promises of greatness, taunted him with words of deceit, accused him in soft tones of sadness. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't silence those voices. All he could do was wait for the cycle of darkness and light to begin again, to start anew.

In those instances of rebirth he found an occasional moment of peace, but into the moments of peace came knowledge. His people were dying. There was nobody to lead them. Voices—grating, scratchy, demon-like voices—begged him to come back, to lead once more, and from time to time he considered it. But whenever he did, another dead man appeared. Rusot; a valued friend. The first Cardassian to join the rebellion. Yet another body lying cold on the floor, murdered by hands stained so red with blood that the grey skin beneath them was no longer visible. You can't lead Cardassia, Rusot said. Cardassia was dead, and it wasn't coming back.

From time to time he felt himself moving towards the light, but at first he shied away from it. It hurt his eyes to be near it, and felt cold to his skin. No... the darkness was where he belonged. In the darkness where nobody would ever have to look at him and see him and know all the crimes he had committed. They were far too numerous to list, though in the darkest moments, he did try to list them. Murder. Betrayal. Collaboration. And those were only the crimes he had committed. He had thought about more. He had thought about killing others. Torturing them. Beating them as punishment for annoying him. At the time, those thoughts had seemed right. Perfectly normal. Some people deserved to be beaten. Some people needed it.

Now, he wasn't so sure. Everything was so confused. He'd seen life through the eyes of a victim. He'd been forced to watch his people sent pointlessly to their deaths for no good cause. The strength that he had so admired now seemed a failing if it could not be tempered with patience. Strength without compassion was cruelty, but compassion was something he had little experience of. He knew love, and loved his family. He loved his wife. His son. But his love hadn't saved them. How was he supposed to learn about compassion without them?

There had been a moment where, distracted by the words of dead men, he had heard laughter, and dared to dwell on it for a moment. The light, the painful brightness, had engulfed him for a moment, and he'd found himself in a dream. It had been so surreal. He'd been lying in a bed, with a pile of rulot seeds beside him. Confused, he'd picked one up, his hand feeling weak and shaky, and heard somebody start coughing. A dark shadow had crossed his vision and asked for water. After that, the light became too painful, so he'd put the rulot seed down and retreated back into the blessed relief of darkness.

But though the darkness was relief from the pain and cold of the light, it offered him no respite from the voices of the dead. They seemed to fear the light; whenever he moved towards it, they moved away, their voices growing weaker, dimmer, their accusations less hurtful. And so he'd learnt to stay somewhere between the light and the dark, navigating it as best he could, wary of the demon-voices which spoke to him from the light, and the voices of the dead which spoke to him from the darkness.

There was a moment when he was floating too close to the light that he heard one of the demon-voices speaking about Cardassia. He focused on it, and found himself pulled into yet another strange dream. He dreamt that a Human woman and a Cardassian boy sat in the room with him; the same room as before. The same bed as before. The woman walked up and down, reading from a padd. She glanced at him but paid him little notice as she continued to read. Most of what she said didn't make sense, but then she spoke of a summit. Of sending someone to negotiate for Cardassia. She suggested Gul Toparal.

_Gul Toparal couldn't negotiate his way out of a bar full of Nausicaans_, he thought.

"Do you have a better suggestion?" the woman asked.

Shocked, he retreated back into the darkness. How had she heard his thoughts? Was she a telepath? No… of course not. She'd been a part of his dream, just like the boy. She'd known his thoughts because he'd dreamt her.

After that, the play of darkness against light had become more violent, a swirling maelstrom of demons fighting against the dead. The voices inside his mind were never quiet, now, and for once, the light offered no reprieve. All he could do was try to stop listening, to ignore their words, their pleas for assistance, their accusations. His existence became almost unbearable, until, without warning, there was a cessation of noise. He felt some presence close by, and felt the light rising up to meet him. Eager to flee from the haunting voices, he let it swallow him whole.

He was in the bed again, and there was a weight upon his leg. Looking down, he saw a phaser… a Starfleet phaser, his mind recalled, though he had only a dim memory of what Starfleet actually was.

"You are a leech on your people's resources, a parasite on Cardassian society," said a voice. It was coming from the nearby presence – the woman who had heard his thoughts in his last dream. "You sit here, doing nothing, taking up space, using up valuable medicines, forcing doctors to waste their time on you when they could be saving lives. You've been through a lot, and I'm not going to lie and say that I understand what you're going through, or what you're feeling, but I _do_ know what its like to be in such a dark place that it seems better to retreat inside your own mind, to live in the past, in better times, than face reality."

At her mention of a dark place he felt it looming within him, trying to pull him back down. He resisted for a moment; this dream was too cold, and too bright, but apart from the one voice, it was blessedly silent.

"Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't hesitate to leave you like this for as long as necessary. But these aren't normal circumstances. Every day, Cardassians are dying of dehydration and starvation and disease and violence. Your world is falling apart. Your people need a leader. It won't be easy, but you know what? That's life. It's difficult. It's painful. You can't afford to sit here hiding any longer. It's time for you to make a decision. To stop running. To stop being a coward. Use that phaser. It's set to kill. End what's left of your life, this pitiful existence. Or make the deaths of the people you love count for something. Make the deaths of every Cardassian count for something, and help me to stop any more Cardassians dying. It's your choice."

A grey datapad was dropped onto the bed beside the phaser, and he looked at it blankly.

"There's your latest Federation report. It's the last one I'm bringing. If you want any more, you can come and get them yourself. I'll be in the embassy."

The presence, the Human woman, left the room, and he reached out his hand, running his fingers over the cold material of the phaser. _It's set to kill_. Did that mean... was he alive? Was this place real? Was it something other than a dream? He looked up, took in his surroundings. The things he saw had names which came easily to him… chairs, table, walls, computers, ceiling… he knew them all. And he no longer felt cold, either. The light had warmed to the heat of his body… or maybe it was the other way around.

But if this was life, then what was the place of light and dark, where voices spoke to him and fought over him? If this was life, why had the woman given him a weapon and encouraged him to end it?_ Or make the deaths of the people you love count for something._ He closed his eyes, feeling pain gripping his heart. Yes. His wife. His son. They'd both been killed. Murdered by the Dominion. He'd heard them, briefly, in the place of light and dark, but he couldn't reach them there. Could they be reached here, instead? Or did he really need to end his life to find them? They were probably waiting for him.

There was a terrible noise, and a multitude of people rushed into the room, throwing questions at him, grabbing the phaser and padd from his bed, their faces blurred and their voices indistinguishable. Shocked and frightened by the sudden sensory explosion, he reached for the darkness, plunged himself into it, let it wrap its velvet warmth around him, and ceased to hear and see.

It didn't take long for the voices of the dead to return. Looking for peace, he moved closer towards the light which the voices so feared, and hovered there between the two places. He desperately wanted to find his wife and son, to be with them once more, to tell them how sorry he was that he hadn't been there to protect them. He had been unfaithful. During his absence from them, he'd entertained other women more than once. But the women hadn't helped him to overcome his guilt, or his self-loathing, so he'd turned to alcohol to numb the pain. But being numb had only worked for so long. It had helped him to stop feeling, for a short time, but it hadn't stopped him from seeing, or understanding how many liberties his people were losing under Dominion rule, how many lives were being so casually thrown away by the Founders and their Vorta slaves.

He needed the forgiveness of his wife and son. It was absolution he couldn't live without. And yet… his people still needed him. If he forsook them now, abandoned them to their deaths, just so he could find his own peace of mind… it would be yet another betrayal. His family were waiting for him, yes, but they were dead. They weren't going anywhere. His people, on the other hand, were suffering. They needed him still.

It wasn't an easy decision to make, but once he had made it, he did not shy away from it. He pushed the darkness away, ignoring the voices of the dead which tried to hold him back and cage him with their words, and reached out for the cold, painful light. He plunged into it, let it suffuse him, fill every cell in his body. When he opened his eyes he feared for a moment that he had failed, that he was still in the darkness. But then he heard the sound of computer consoles beeping away in the wall to his right, and he realised it was merely dark – not _the darkness_ where dwelt the dead.

"Lights," he said, and then winced as his eyes were assaulted by the artificial brightness. Slowly, because his body was stiff and aching, he pushed himself up a little higher in the bed. Then, looking down, he saw small tubes inserted into his arms, which ran across to several machines beside his bed. He didn't know what they did, but he suspected disconnecting himself from them wasn't a good idea.

Luckily, he didn't have long to wait for assistance. The door opened and a boy stepped in, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Legate Damar?" he asked, approaching the bed almost reverentially. "I—I saw you moving on the surveillance monitor. Are you alright?"

Damar searched his mind for the boy's identity, and a half-forgotten memory sprang up.

_I'm Telor Rokann. My father works here at the hospital. We brought you here after you were shot._

"Telor," he said, his voice sounding croaky to his ears, and his throat feeling dry.

"You know my name?" the boy asked. He sounded amazed and impressed.

"Of course I know your name. Now, run and fetch your father."

The boy disappeared immediately, and Damar used the time to prop himself further up, and began peeling back the blanket which covered him. Then he practised wiggling his toes, flexing and extending his feet, rotating his ankles, and then lifting his knees. Everything was difficult, and he felt exhausted by the end of it, but he knew that he had probably been lying in this bed for some time. Judging by how rough he felt, probably more than a few days. If he was going to help his people, he needed to regain his strength. And then find some allies.

"See, father, I told you!" said Telor, returning to the room and dragging his father, who was wearing a long night-robe, behind him. The older man stopped and blinked several times, staring at Damar with open-mouthed surprise.

"Well… this _is_ a shock," Rokann said. Then, his face turned stern. "And just where do you think you're going at this time of night, young man?"

"To help our people," he replied, ignoring the slight on his age. He might not be old enough to have grey hair, but he was no mere boy. "Apparently, nobody can get anything done around here without me."

"But it's four o'clock in the morning. Just how much do you think you can do right now?"

"I can get dressed. And I can eat whatever passes for food in this place."

"Well," Rokann said with a huff. He sounded a little mollified. Just a little. "I'm glad to see you've got a sensible head on your shoulders. But you could do without the attitude, if you ask me."

"_Please_ unhook me from these machines," he replied, as pleasantly as he was capable of sounding, "and fetch me some clothes and some food."

"Go to the kitchen, Telor," Rokann said to his son. "See if there's any left-overs." When Telor ran off again, Rokann turned to Damar and began removing the tubes from his arms. Then he used a hypo-spray, to heal up the holes left in his skin. When the machines stopped detecting a body, they began to beep more violently, but Rokann switched them off.

"Where am I?" Damar asked, looking around the room.

"Lakat hospital. What's the last thing you remember?" Rokann asked gruffly.

He closed his eyes, and thought back. "Being shot as we stormed the Dominion headquarters. How long have I been here?"

"Nearly three months."

"Three months?" he whispered. "What's happened whilst I've been here? I take it that the Dominion are gone? That the Federation Alliance made it through? How goes the war effort now?"

"There is no war effort," Rokann snorted. "The Federation were able to convince the Founder to call off the attack. They surrendered, and the Founder is to be tried as a war criminal."

"How did they manage to convince her to stand down?" He could scarcely believe it. The Dominion gone? No longer in the Alpha Quadrant? The Founder being tried as a war criminal?

"They had a Changeling of their own, didn't they?" Rokann replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "He promised to go back and save the Founders from that disease if the one here agreed to end the war."

"You mean... Odo's alive? They found a cure for him? And he's gone back to the Gamma Quadrant?"

"That's what I said, isn't it? But I don't know the ins and outs of it. I'm just a doctor. I'm not interested in political affairs. You should speak to one of the councillors, if you want the latest news. Amaro, or Garak. Or perhaps the Federation Ambassador."

"Wait," he said, holding his hand up to stall the onslaught of new information. "Amaro? You mean _Gul_ Amaro? He's a politician now? And Garak, too?"

"Well, they're trying to be. From what I can gather, they're not very good at it. Too much bickering."

"And since when has Cardassia had a Federation Ambassador?"

"A few weeks, now. Nice young woman, too. Her name's—"

_My name is Virginia Fox, and I'm the Federation ambassador to Cardassia._

"Virginia Fox," Damar finished for him. "Yes, I remember. She gave me a phaser and told me to put myself out of my misery."

"She'll be wanting her phaser back, I think," Rokann nodded, as if her words and actions were irrelevant. "Amaro confiscated it."

"How long ago was that?"

"Two days. Or three. Normally we'd be expecting the Ambassador back at a decent hour later this morning, but I think she made her opinion on that quite clear last time she was here. Telor and I went to visit her for a short time yesterday… she's not far from where we live."

A niggling pain in his temple caused him to rub his head with the palm of his hand. "Please stop talking," he said, too bothered by the pain to worry about offending the doctor. The old man merely whipped out a scanner from some unseen pocket in his robe and ran it over Damar's body.

"Hmm, some neuralgia," he said thoughtfully. "I'll give you a mild beta-blocker and a pain killer. Tell me, what have you been experiencing these past weeks?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," he replied flatly.

"I found some food, father," Telor said, returning before Rokann could ask any more questions. The boy put the tray on the bed beside Damar.

"Good. Now, we'll see about getting you some clothes, Legate. You eat your food, and then once you're done, I'll give you a full check up before releasing you from the hospital's care."

"That's not necessary," he assured the man.

"It is," Rokann said firmly. "I'll not have Cardassia's leader running around and tiring himself out whilst playing at politics. If you object, I'll have the hospital guards restrain you. Nobody leaves my care unless I'm certain they're not going to end up back in it."

Damar grunted as the pair left, and picked up one of the cold korat shoots from the tray. He should have known that the doctor wouldn't make it easy for him to leave. But on the bright side, he suspected he'd just found his first allies.

o - o - o - o - o

Nine o'clock was usually the time when Gin made her way to the council headquarters, so that she could be transported to Lakat hospital. Now, she had no reports to make, so she decided to give herself the morning off. Free time was a rare thing for her, so she switched off her communications console and brought out a deck of cards from her desk drawer. After shuffling them she placed them all face down in neat rows on her desk, and began hunting for pairs.

Things had been suspiciously quiet of late. Her only visitors had been Amaro, who'd come to rage at her the day after she'd given the leader of Cardassia a phaser, and then yesterday, Telor and Merak had stopped by, to see how she was doing. Telor had asked her if she was really not coming back to the hospital, and seemed despondent when she confirmed that she had no intention of returning. Merak had advised her that there had been no change with the Legate, and that the hospital was positively full of interfering council members, all trying to get the Legate to respond to something.

Garak had sent her a brief message following Amaro's visit, to tell her that he'd managed to calm the Gul down, and as a result, she no longer had to fear leaving the embassy in case she was arrested on sight. He did, however, advise caution, because Amaro wasn't the only councillor angry at her actions. She'd decided to follow his advice, and hadn't left the embassy since he'd escorted her back to it. As much as she hated being cooped up, she knew she needed to be patient, and wait for the storm to pass.

Halfway through her second game of solitaire, she heard some commotion out in the street, and half wondered if this was the mob, come to drag her off for a trial and execution. Fighting back a niggling feeling of worry, she tried to ignore the noise as best she could, concentrating instead on her game. When she heard the embassy door open, she expected either Garak or Amaro to enter her office. When a stranger entered instead, it threw her, and it took her a full minute of staring to recognise Legate Damar.

She wasn't used to seeing him upright and wearing anything other than a medical gown, but it was his posture and demeanour more than anything that surprised her. Gone was the vacant, glassy-eyed expression, replaced by a look of focused concentration. The clothes he was wearing were dark blue and grey in colour, and suited him well, though she was surprised he hadn't reverted back to a military uniform.

Putting down the card in her hand—she'd already forgotten which one it was—she leant back in her chair. Her heart was pounding in her chest, but she donned a mask of calmness, not wanting to give her excitement away,

"That will be your mob outside then, I presume?" she asked.

"They followed me from the hospital, and the crowd got larger from there." He stepped forward and put two items on her desk; the phaser, and her datapad. "I've come to return these to you."

"That must have taken some strong words to Gul Amaro," she said, fighting back a smile. "Where is he now?"

"Outside," Damar said, his eyes glancing to the embassy door. "I told him to wait there for me."

"I can imagine how much that irked him."

"Maybe. But I didn't come here to talk about Gul Amaro, Ambassador. I came here for your Federation reports."

"Very well," she said, and swept up the cards before gesturing to the chair on the opposite side of the desk. "Would you like to take a seat?"

"I just spent three months lying in a bed. I'd rather stand," he said. "But thank you."

"As you wish," she nodded, and switched on her communication console. Reports were a familiar thing, and they had a calming effect on her. It was easier to read off reports than think about the fact that Cardassia's formerly catatonic saviour was up and walking around and standing in her embassy. "First, how much do you know about the current situation on Cardassia?"

"Doctor Rokann and Telor have been filling me in."

"Do you remember anything of my previous reports?"

"Some," he admitted. "At the time, they didn't really register with my mind. Now, however, they're coming back to me. Like forgotten memories. From everything I've been told and remember, it sounds like Cardassia is struggling to survive."

"What your people need is a leader," she agreed.

"Then we may have a problem."

"Oh?"

"I'm not a very good leader."

His claim was strange... and a little worrying. Was he saying that he didn't _want_ to lead his people?

"You led Cardassia for over a year," she pointed out.

"As a Dominion puppet. I did what they told me, when they told me. Most of the decisions were not mine to make." There was a bitter tone in his voice.

"You led the rebels."

"I started the rebellion. It was led by Colonel Kira Nerys. If you want somebody to lead Cardassia, maybe you should look to Bajor," he joked. At least, she hoped it was a joke.

"Legate—" she started to say, but he cut her off.

"Ambassador, I need more than reports from you. I need... advice. How do I form a government that works? What do I do first?"

She took a deep breath. His questions were not easy ones to answer. They were very subjective, and not every type of government would work for every race.

"I can't tell you what's best for your people," she said. "And I can't tell you how to form a government. I _won't_. It's not why I'm here. And Federation diplomats are not supposed to decide the fates of other worlds."

"But you can advise me," Damar pointed out. "I don't have to agree with your advice. I can act against it, if I choose. But there's nobody on Cardassia who has any experience of forming governments. At making changes that affect an entire society."

"I don't have that sort of experience either," she objected.

"Maybe not. But as a Federation ambassador, the knowledge is there inside your head. Policy, procedure, law, diplomacy, culture... you are a resource that I need. An outsider's point of view that none of my people can give; not even Garak, who has lived amongst the Federation and the Bajorans for years."

"Alright," she said, sighing deeply. "I will advise you as best I can. I will offer you as many choices, as many courses of action, as possible. It's up to you to decide which one to take. Will you please sit?"

For a wonder, he did, resting his hands on the desk, fixing his blue eyes on her face.

"Tell me how to begin."

"First of all," she said, trying to consider how _she_ would go about the task of rebuilding an empire, "I think you need to decide on what _sort_ of government you want to create. You've just come from a totalitarian regime. You could continue down that path. You might choose to go the other way, and form a democracy, or perhaps favour something a little between the two, such as a meritocracy. I think we can discount a theocracy… the Cardassian people are not particularly religious."

"Which is the one where I tell people what to do, and they do it?"

"An autocracy. But I have to advise you, the Federation does not look favourably upon dictatorships. Very few dictators have their people's best interests at heart. And dictatorships usually end in violence, with the disgruntled masses rising up to overthrow their oppressors. Some of this may sound familiar to you."

"A little," he said, and briefly rubbed his temple with his hand. "It seems to me I could get more done if I didn't have people questioning my every move, but then, that would make me no better than the Dominion. I don't want to put my people through that again. I want there to be an end to violence and bloodshed... and yet, from what I've seen of democracies, they're slow and inefficient. People spend far too much time sitting around talking and discussing, rather than acting."

"It's not an easy choice you have to make," she agreed. For a moment his vision was turned inward as he thought about the various options, and she took the opportunity to study him a little more closely. Everything about him was average; his height, his appearance, his career... and yet there was a crowd of people waiting outside the embassy—and she could still hear them calling his name—ready to hang off his every word. Waiting as long as it would take just to catch a glimpse of him.

When his blue eyes returned to her face, she felt a little guilty for having been caught staring.

"What would you do, in my position?" he asked.

She gave the question a moment of consideration before answering. "I think..." she said slowly, "that I wouldn't try to form a government without first consulting my people. Cardassia has a lot of problems. Not all of them can be fixed by a government. Some need a more personal touch."

"Meaning what?"

"A famous Vulcan once said: Those who cannot hear an angry shout may strain to hear a whisper."

"Wise words," Damar agreed. "But what do they have to do with me? I'm not shouting."

"I was planning to visit Tomakan city tomorrow," she lied. "To examine the new dam recently built there, and personally investigate reports of growing unrest. Why don't you come with me? I'm sure seeing you will help to quell any disturbances, and you'll get a chance to see, first hand, what the situation on Cardassia is really like."

"That sounds like a good idea," he said thoughtfully. "Until then, I suppose I'd better meet with this so-called council, and see what sort of a mess they've created."

"Don't you want my latest reports from the Federation Council?" she asked, surprised.

"Maybe tomorrow. I have a lot to do today. I'll be back at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. Then we'll see exactly what's been happening on Cardassia."

She stood up as he left, the crowd growing louder as the embassy door opened. It didn't take long for the voices to grow more distant, however, and she surmised the Legate was leaving. Hurrying to the embassy front window, she watched the river of Cardassians flow down the street, Damar at its head with Gul Amaro right beside him, and several other councillors following closely on his heels.

When she lost sight of them, she returned to her comm screen and hailed the USS Sarajevo, which was in orbit. The communications officer put her on hold for a moment, and then she was looking at the blue-skinned face of Captain V'Lat.

"Good evening, Ambassador," the Bolian said with a smile. "It's good to see you again."

"And you too, Captain. Although it's morning here."

"Ah, the eternal problem of ship-time versus planet-time. Something I fear we'll never be able to overcome. Is there something I can do for you, Ambassador?"

"Not at the moment," she said, offering him her best disarming smile. "But I might need a little assistance tomorrow."


	7. Tour of Tomakan

Restoration

_7. Tour of Tomakan_

At eight fifty-five the next morning, Gin was standing in the reception hall of the embassy. She'd dressed in a pair of beige trousers and a light green shirt; if she was going tramping around Cardassia, she didn't want to wear dark clothing, which was a heat-magnet when out of the shade. In a small satchel she carried a couple of datapads, a canteen of water, enough Starfleet field rations to last her the day, the phaser Damar had returned, and a pretty Japanese hand-fan that her father had bought for her on her twentieth birthday.

At nine o'clock exactly the embassy door opened, revealing Legate Damar and two armed soldiers behind him.

"Wait here," he told them, and they took up positions of alertness at either side of the door as the Legate stepped into the building. Today he was wearing grey trousers and shining black boots, topped off with a dark blue shirt. He carried no bag or equipment, but he had a small Cardassian phaser holstered at his belt.

"You're very punctual, Legate" she said. "And you appear to have made some friends." She gestured at the now-closed door.

"They're my guards," Damar replied. "Gul Amaro seems to believe I need personal protection when walking the streets. They'll be coming with us to Tomakan city, along with half a dozen councillors – Amaro and Garak included. They weren't keen on the idea of me leaving the capital, but I think they believe that I'll be safer, and less inclined to make hasty decisions, whilst under their keen gazes. They're waiting for us in the command centre's transporter room."

"I thought they would be. That's why I've arranged my own transport."

He looked surprised. "Oh?"

"I have a ship in orbit. I had a feeling the transporter pad was going to get a little... crowded. And," she admitted, "I thought you might like the chance to talk to the people without the interference of the council."

"Just the interference of yourself?" he pointed out.

She held up her hands to protest her innocence. "I promise I won't interfere. You won't hear a word out of me. Of course, if you would prefer the company of your fellow politicians and their guards, I will completely understand."

He glanced at the door, outside which were his guards, and she could see him weighing up the options in his mind.

"Gul Amaro warned me you were a trouble-maker," he said.

"The Gul is as astute and eloquent as always."

"And I am, naturally, going to tell him that you abducted me against my will."

She gave a snort of amusement and tapped the comm badge attached to her satchel.

"Sarajevo, this is Ambassador Fox. Two to beam up."

Her vision greyed and shimmered as she was demolecularised, and when everything swam into focus she found herself looking at a ship's bulkhead, and a member of the ship's engineering team standing behind the transporter controls.

"Welcome to the Sarajevo, Ambassador," the woman said. She gave Damar only a passing glance. "I'm ready to beam you back down to the planet's surface."

"Then please make it so."

"Energising."

There was more greying and shimmering, and this time the scene that swam into view was of dusty red soil and green and red vegetation as far as the eye could see. At her request, they'd been beamed down just behind one of the hills that surrounded Tomakan city — she'd wanted to get a view of the place, before going into it.

"That Starfleet officer didn't have any idea who I am, did she?" Damar asked.

"I haven't _quite_ gotten around yet to advising the Federation that you're alive," she admitted.

"Why not?"

"I wanted some good news to report for a change, and until yesterday, I wasn't sure that you'd ever recover. Besides, the council asked me not to."

"That doesn't sound very... Starfleet," he accused.

"I don't work for Starfleet. I believe Tomakan city is that way," she said, pointing off in the direction of a dusty path through the foliage.

Damar took the lead, striding out along the path as if he was strolling down a paved street. Gin, who'd had the foresight to wear sturdy boots, had to take a faster pace to keep up, and before long she found herself wishing she'd brought something to keep the sun out of her eyes. Though it was only mid-morning, the temperature was already twenty-five degrees, and she knew it was only going to get hotter. Reaching into her bag, she brought out the fan and released the clasp, opening it and using it to fan slightly cooler air into her face. Damar looked at her as if she was mad.

"Are all Humans so frail? This weather is quite pleasant. A little chilly at the moment, perhaps, but it will get better later."

"Frail?" she scoffed. "If the temperature was ten degrees colder, I'd be having a fine time and you'd be begging me for a heater. Anyway, how long do you think it will take the council to realise we're not coming back?"

"Another twenty or thirty minutes, I should imagine. And then they'll have another three or four hours of arguing what to do about it."

"I take it your meeting with them yesterday didn't go well?"

He stopped walking so that he could speak face to face.

"They're not bad people," he insisted. "They've got a lot of ideas about how to take Cardassia forward. It's just that they can't agree on which ideas are best. There's a lot of mistrust between the military and the civilians. Even the civilians themselves are fractured into groups... scientists, teachers, traders... even a couple of former members of the Obsidian Order. They argue about everything. It's so... frustrating. At least when Central Command was making the decisions, nobody argued."

"Is that the sort of system you want to go back to? Military rule?"

He sighed. "I don't know. I'm not very good at making decisions. I tend to make the wrong ones. And I've made a lot of bad decisions in my life." He turned and resumed walking, but not before she saw the momentary anguish in his eyes. Gin hurried after him, but she didn't offer any further words. She suspected he didn't want to talk about those 'bad decisions,' and besides, it was starting to get warmer, and her fan was doing little to cool her down

"Garak tells me that you chose to come here," Damar said at last.

"That's right."

"He thinks you're insane. I suspect he might be right."

"Why? Because I chose a difficult assignment over an easy one?"

"Pretty much. You could be stationed somewhere much cooler than this, where there's little or no risk of disease or starvation or outbreaks of violence. Surely there's more to your being here than looking for a challenge?"

"Alright," she admitted. "I see a lot of potential in your people. You have an ancient and rich culture that I think you've fallen out of touch with. You have a strong sense of duty that I see as a benefit, though I think it needs to be tempered to give your people greater personal freedoms. I see this situation as a terrible tragedy, but also a great chance. And I want to be here, to see history made. So yes, my reasons for being here are selfish. But at the same time, I won't sit back and do nothing whilst Cardassians starve. I want to help, as well. You look surprised," she said, noting the look on his face.

"I'd assumed that the rest of the Alpha Quadrant would hate us, for siding with the Dominion."

"Well, I don't think it made you any friends. But that doesn't mean the Federation is going to sit back and watch your people suffer."

"And what to they want in return?"

"What the Federation has always wanted. Peace, and friendship."

"And if peace and friendship fail, like they did with the Dominion?"

"Then it helps to have a sizable military to fall back on. But we prefer to lead by example. We fight if we have to, but we don't deliver the first blow. We would rather be friends of Cardassia, than enemies."

"I doubt the majority of Federation citizens would echo that sentiment," he snorted.

"You'd be surprised."

They stopped as they crested the hill, and Gin let her eyes rove over the city, whilst simultaneously trying to watch Damar's reaction. The destruction here was not as bad as Lakat; only the outskirts had been hit before the Jem'Hadar were ordered to ceasefire. In the near distance was a large reservoir of water held back by a dam, the fields in its shadow churned to mud and waterlogged. In drier places temporary encampments had been set up, consisting of tents—some Cardassian, some Federation—and makeshift bunkers. It appeared the reconstruction of the homes and farms destroyed had already begun; in an area a little east of the dam, foundations of buildings were being laid out, and the makings of walls erected.

Damar took it all in, his face expressionless. Cardassians, Gin had found, were harder to read than more human-like aliens, such as Betazoids, Trill or Bajorans. For a start, they were much more practised at guarding their emotions to appear aloof. Their faces, covered in parts by scales, were also less naturally expressive. Still, they were easier than Romulans...

"It's not as bad as I'd feared," Damar said at last, possibly looking for the least negative observation he could give. "Everything looks a little less clean than I remember it, but I suppose we can change that."

"You've been here before?"

"Yes, several times. If only Lakarian city had got off this easily."

"Should we make our way down to the settlement?" she asked, her fan working overtime.

"Yes." He nodded to the encampment. "That looks the best place to start."

Knowing that this first meeting between Cardassia's leader and its people was going to be an important one—possibly one that would set the rules for all future meetings—she let him lead, opting to walk a couple of paces behind and to his left. As she walked, she put away her fan, took out her padd, and began consulting the information it held. Information provided to her by the Federation relief teams who'd been working here up until a week ago, relating to the aid provided... and the number of Cardassians they'd dug graves for.

As they approached the outskirts of the encampment, a few people looked up from their places outside their tents, but most ignored the newcomers; they were obviously used to seeing Humans here, because nobody questioned Gin's presence. Most likely they thought she was another aid worker, and they paid her little attention as they went about their business; men and women talking, older children washing clothes in metal buckets, younger children chasing each other, managing to find some moments of happiness despite their predicament. It wasn't until somebody recognised Damar that word of the Legate spread, and suddenly the whispers were like wildfire. The people closed in, looking reverentially at the man who walked in their midst; somebody must have run on with word of his arrival, because as Gin and Damar approached what appeared to be the centre of the encampment, three grey-haired men and a white-haired woman appeared. When they all stopped, and the crowd quietened down, what appeared to be the eldest of the men stepped forward.

"Legate Damar? Is is really you?" he asked.

"Yes," Damar said. "I've come to see for myself how the people of Tomakan city are faring, following the withdrawal of the Dominion."

"But... we were told you were dead!" There was a look of disbelief, of deep skepticism, on the man's face. Gin couldn't blame him. Damar was dead. Everybody knew that. _She'd_ known that. And yet here he was. Proof that miracles sometimes did happen.

"I was gravely injured during the rebellion," Damar replied, taking a step forward, fixing his gaze on the elderly man's face. "My recovery has been long and slow, and during that time, the council felt it best to keep news of my survival quiet. But now I am back, to help lead Cardassia into the future."

"This is Federation trickery, Narik," the elderly woman said. She stepped forward to place a hand on the man's arm, and gave Gin a suspicious glare. "They have a shape-shifter, you know. They think we'll be more likely to do their bidding if they bring back the hero of Cardassia."

"I'm no hero," Damar said, and whispers passed through the crowd. "But neither am I a shape-shifter. The heroes are the brave men and women who gave their lives for our freedom. Our mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, sons and daughters. I'm more than willing to undertake any test required to prove my identity."

There was a silent impasse, both men standing tall, staring at each other. For a brief moment, Gin thought that a DNA test really would be necessary. Then, the elder man backed down, a slight bend of his head as a mark of respect.

"That won't be necessary," the man said. "I can see the truth in your eyes. You are no shape-shifter. Please, forgive our suspicions. I am Narik Marite." He gestured to the woman by his side. "This is my wife, Larin."

"I'm afraid I cannot offer you the hospitality of our home, Legate," Larin said. "It was washed away during the flood. I can, however, offer you the hospitality of our tent. Will you and your... companion... share a drink with us?"

"This is Ambassador Fox," Damar said, gesturing towards Gin. It seemed he finally remembered she was there. "She is the Federation representative, and has been co-ordinating relief efforts on Cardassia."

"We are grateful to you, Ambassador," said Narik, though Larin gave her a glance that was much more disapproving. "Please, both of you, come this way."

The elderly couple led the way deeper into the camp, and the crowd grew noisy once more. People called out to Damar, asking him questions, enquiring about his health, about how the situation was in the capital, asking where he'd been all this time, and what was he doing to help their fellow Cardassians? Gin had never seen anything like it. The encampment was alive with voices and faces that displayed more hope and happiness than she had ever thought possible. Even the president of the Federation did not receive this sort of reception from the people he met.

Narik ducked into a large, grey tent, and Larin followed him, with Damar behind her and Gin bringing up the rear. It was fairly spacious inside, with a small table, around which were four chairs. Unfortunately for Gin, it was only a few degrees cooler in here than it was outside, and she was torn between wanting to bring out her fan again, and wanting to put on a strong front and not appear weak in this miserable heat. Narik gestured for both she and Damar to sit, and joined them whilst Larin brought over a pitcher of water and four cups.

"Anything we can do for you, Legate, you need only ask," Narik said, as he poured water and gave the first cup to Damar. The second went to Gin, and she gave him a grateful nod of thanks. She gulped down the cool liquid, feeling it quench her parched throat. The three Cardassians watched her blankly, though she did think she saw amusement in Damar's eyes.

"Thank you," Damar said, turning his attention fully to Narik. "Please, tell me what has happened here, since the rebellion."

"When the orbital bombardment began," Larin began, "we ran from our homes, into the forest. Others did likewise, and that is the only reason we are alive today. The dam was hit; we heard it all the way from the forest. For as long as I live I will never forget that terrible roar as the wall crumbled and the great wave of water came rushing towards our homes. We could do nothing but watch as every house on the plain was washed away, reduced to nothing but rubble. Others were not so lucky. Some chose to stay in their homes, rather than flee. Entire families drowned."

"In a way, we were fortunate," said Narik. "When the dam was originally constructed, it was made down-stream of the city. Had it been built up-stream, I believe the devastation there would have been catastrophic."

"That even one person was killed is a great tragedy," Damar said. And Gin believed he truly meant it. "How did you cope with the aftermath of that?"

"The first few days were chaos," Narik admitted. "With planetary communications down, nobody knew what was happening. People had begun evacuating the city, moving out into the countryside carrying what few possessions they could. Those of us who were downstream had no possessions to take, and nowhere to go. Instead, we waded through the waist-deep mud, looking for survivors... finding only bodies." Larin lay a hand on his arm, and he patted it as he continued. "A few days later, a Federation relief team came. They told us that the Dominion had surrendered, that we were free. It pains me to admit it, but by that point, I didn't care. I'd lost my home and my livelihood. Many of my friends, and their entire families, were dead.

"The relief team set up this encampment here. They supplied the first of the tents, like the one we're in now. They brought us medicines and machines to provide clean water. They dug graves for our people, though I think they were a little offended that we asked them to leave when it was time to perform funeral rites. And I don't think they understood why we didn't want them searching for bodies. Why we had to do it ourselves."

"I'm sorry if I sound ignorant," Gin interrupted, "but what is the significance of that?"

"It is considered... disrespectful... for outsiders to view our dead," Damar explained.

"Though of course, we are very grateful for everything else they did," Narik added. "Food, shelter, medicines, blankets... every basic amenity we have, the relief team provided. When the rest of our people returned to the city, they donated clothing and kitchenware, and toys for the children. Whatever they could spare. I must admit, those Federation engineers can work quickly, when they're pushed. I never thought a dam could be built in such a short time. Now all we have to do is wait for our fields to dry out. As you've probably already seen, reconstruction of farm houses has already begun, albeit a little closer to the city than we would have liked. Unfortunately, waterlogged land is useless. We can't grow anything."

"Forgive me, but I'm no farmer," Damar said. "Is there any way of speeding up the process of drying the land?"

"Is that another amazing power that heroes have?" Larin asked. "Being able to defy death, and waving their hand to dry out flooded land?"

"Larin," Narik cautioned. "The Legate is just trying to understand what we need. I'm sorry Legate, but the water table is so saturated that it is now above the ground. Even several months' worth of drought conditions would hardly make a dent in the sheer amount of water here."

Damar nodded thoughtfully, and glanced to Gin. "Does the Federation have anything that might help?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "But I'll look into it as soon as we get back to the embassy."

"Thank you," Narik said, as she made a note on her datapad to contact one of the engineering teams as soon as possible. "Anything you could do would be appreciated."

"Is there anything else that you need?" asked Damar. "Food? More tents? Medicines?"

"I don't think so. Don't get me wrong, times are tough. We're all having to tighten our belts and ration food. But for now, we will survive. Doctors come out every day from the city, to make sure we're all in good health. New houses are being constructed, although the construction is a little slower than I would have liked. The children are all well... indeed, they're faring better than any of us. I think they see it as a sort of adventure. Young minds are better at forgetting horrors."

"Narik," Gin said, flicking through the information on her pad, "a few days ago I heard some reports about possible unrest in the city. Do you know anything about that?"

The old man looked hesitant, and Damar spoke up.

"I would appreciate any information you can give me, Narik. The city is our next stop, and I'd rather not go in there blind."

"To tell you the truth, Legate, you don't need to go there at all. There was some... unrest... but it's passed now."

"What sort of unrest?"

"The exarch of the city was killed in the orbital strike. There was much debate about who should be the next exarch. But the situation has passed; a new exarch has been chosen, and order has returned to the city."

"I'd be more worried about Rotan and Silmoras, if I were you," Larin added.

"Hush, woman," Narik chastised. "The Legate has far more important things to concern himself with than those two."

"Who are they?" Damar asked, frowning. Clearly the names meant nothing to him.

"Just two stubborn old men," Narik said dismissively.

"Two stubborn old men who need their heads banging together!" Larin trilled. "They're having a... disagreement, Legate. The whole camp would be grateful if you could go and speak to them. You can find them on the west side of the camp, near the dam."

"Alright," Damar agreed. "If you're certain you need nothing else, I'll go and speak to these men now."

"Please, don't trouble yourself with them," said Narik insistently. "It's hardly a matter that concerns the hero of Cardassia."

"If it concerns my people, then it concerns me," Damar replied. "Ambassador, if you've finished your water, I'd like to go and speak to these men."

Gin gulped down the last contents of her cup and, following Damar's lead, stood up.

"Thank you both for your hospitality," she said. "If there's anything else you can think of, please don't hesitate to contact me at the embassy."

The crowd outside the tent had not grown any smaller. In fact, it had grown larger. It felt as if hundreds of men and women were there, waiting to catch a glimpse of Damar. Parents had lifted children onto their hips and shoulders, and as Gin followed the Legate out of the tent, a young couple rushed towards them, the woman carrying a baby in her arms.

"Forgive me for interrupting you, Legate Damar," the woman said, bowing her head demurely. "My daughter was born three days ago, and she has yet to be named. I... we... were hoping you would choose a name for her."

"You want me to name your child?" Damar asked in disbelief. His expression, a mixture of confusion and incredulity, was hilarious, and Gin suppressed the wide smile that threatened to split her face.

"With your blessing, she is sure to lead a successful life," the young man said in earnest.

"Please, Legate," the young woman begged, biting her lip, hope etched into every angle of her face. Damar, meanwhile, looked incredibly uncomfortable.

"Do you... have any names picked out already?"

"I was thinking about Zarene," the woman replied. "My husband likes Mitra."

"Then use both. Zarene Mitra sounds like a fine name to me."

"Oh, thank you, Legate! Thank you!"

"Yes, thank you," the man added. "We'll be sure she grows up knowing where her name came from."

"I'm glad," Damar replied, sounding anything but. "And now, I have much to do. But I promise you; I will be back. And when I return, I expect to see you all thriving. I expect to see those houses built, standing tall and proud, as you are standing now. So... get to work. You've got more important things to do than stand around watching a soldier."

To Gin's surprise, the crowd began to disperse. All except the children, who still loitered, looking awed at seeing their hero standing right before them. Without another word, Damar set off across the encampment; people watched him go, but they didn't crowd him now. Clearly they felt they had to impress him with their efficiency and obedience.

"Is there something you find amusing, Ambassador?" he asked curtly, and she realised she was grinning.

"Me? Not at all," she smiled. "Just wishing I'd brought a camera along. Your expression was priceless."

"Hmph. Maybe I should make _you_ name the next one."

"Oh, nobody cares about my opinions," she assured him. "I'm not the hero of Cardassia, after all."

"That makes two of us, then."

It didn't take long for them to find Rotan and Silmoras; they were on the very western edge of the camp, and the situation was not what Gin had been expecting. They found Rotan first, but mostly because his family needed four tents to house it. Twenty-seven of his family were present, including his wife, four children, twelve grand-children, and a multitude of great-grandchildren. Fecundity, Gin realised, was not an issue for Rotan's family. And as soon as they realised Legate Damar was right outside their tents, the proverbial red carpet was rolled out, and Damar and Gin found themselves sitting at another table, drinking yet more water, as a large group of wide-eyed Cardassian children looked on.

"Rotan," Damar began, addressing the ancient white-haired man, "Narik tells me that you and Silmoras are having some problems. I'd like to help if I can, but I need to know what's happening first."

"What's happening? What's happening is that greedy old jackal is denying my family a home!"

"I don't understand."

"What's not to understand? Our home was washed away during the flood, wasn't it? Now we need to rebuild, but Silmoras is camped on the land we need, and he won't get off it! We need that land, Legate. As you can see, there are a lot of us... the children need a home. Little Talia is only six months old!"

"Why won't he move off the land and let you settle there?"

"Because he's greedy, and thinks he has more right to build there than we do! But does he have a family? No. He had only two children left before the flood, and now he has no family at all. The grief of losing them has driven him to madness!"

"I'll talk to him," Damar said, rubbing his left temple with his fingertips. "I'm sure we can resolve this swiftly."

"Good. And I'll come with you."

"That really isn't necess—"

"Nonsense! I've got to take care of my family. Of course it's necessary. A man who can't take care of his family isn't a man at all."

Damar's expression was stony, but he relented.

"Very well. But just you. And the Ambassador. Everybody else can wait here."

"Don't see why you need a Federation Ambassador to sort out a simple Cardassian problem," Rotan sniffed. "Just order Silmoras to get off the land."

"Let's go," Damar sighed.

Gin followed the two men out of the tent, and they allowed Rotan to lead them to a nearby field, in the middle of which a single small tent was camped. Outside the tent, sitting in a chair, was another elderly man, though not quite as elderly as Rotan. And, in his hands, was a phaser rifle. Suddenly, Gin realised why Rotan hadn't ousted Silmoras himself.

When he noticed them approaching, Silmoras stood up and pointed his weapon at Rotan.

"That's close enough, you blood-sucking fiend," he growled. "One step closer, and we'll have to get the Federation to come back and dig another grave."

"You wouldn't dare fire on me!" Rotan shouted, calling the other man's bluff.

"I wouldn't put latinum on that bet, if I were you! And I see you've even talked others into coming here and doing your dirty work for you! Illegally removing a man from the land he owns... shame on you all!"

"Ha! This is Legate Damar, and the Federation Ambassador," Rotan returned triumphantly. "They've come to tell you to move your hovel somewhere else."

"Rotan, one more word out of you, and I'm leaving," Damar warned. His patience was clearly growing thin. "Silmoras, I would like to talk to you. Lower your weapon."

"Or what? You going to shoot me, boy? Go right ahead. I've nothing left to lose."

"I'm not going to shoot you," Damar said calmly. "But I'd like to talk without having a gun aimed at me. I've had more than enough of that to last me a lifetime."

"Hmph." The old man lowered his weapon. "Talk fast, then. And keep _that_ blood-sucker away from my tent."

"Rotan has explained that he and his family do not yet have a place to live," Damar replied, gesturing for Rotan to stay back as he himself moved closer. Gin stayed between the two, blocking Rotan's advance. "He says that he needs this land, but you won't leave it. I want to know why."

"Because this is _my_ land. It's been in my family for generations. And Rotan knows it. He tried buying me out years ago, because he knows how fertile my fields are. But I wouldn't sell it to him then, and I'm certainly _not_ going to give it to him now. If you don't believe me, you can check the land registry office in the city. The records are all there. He's no right to be here, and I've got every right to defend my home. Even if it _is_ just a tent."

"And why is it so important that you stay? Surely you won't be able to work all of your fields yourself?"

"Legate, this was my family home," Silmoras said, his face taking on a sad cast. "My last two children died here during the flood. Now, this is all I have left of them. All I have left of anyone. Besides, it's the principle of it. Coming in here and stealing another man's home and land is not right! If law and order is broken, we'll be left with nothing but chaos! You tell that blood-sucker, Legate. Tell him that if he was a true Cardassian, he wouldn't be advocating anarchy."

Damar rubbed his temple again, then took a step back, to address both men.

"I'll consider your arguments and come back in an hour with a suggestion. In the mean time, try not to kill each other."

Before either of them could protest, Damar set off across the field, heading towards a small stand of trees against which several large boulders had come to rest. Gin hurried after him, trying, and failing, to avoid the wettest patches of ground. After only a few steps, her trousers were full of mud splatters, and her boots were a dark brown colour. She sighed, and when Damar reached the boulders and disappeared behind one of them, she hurried after him so as not to lose sight of him.

When she rounded the boulder herself, she found the Legate leaning back against the large stone, his eyes closed, an expression of pain on his face.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing." He opened his eyes, which looked a little redder than they had earlier. "Just a headache."

She opened her satchel and handed him the canteen of water. "Drink," she said. "And then eat something." She gave him one of the packets of rations.

He accepted both, then found a small, dry rock to sit down on. As he turned his attention to opening the rations, and picking at what was inside, Gin took out her fan and found a rock of her own to sit down on, fanning her face in an attempt to dry some of the perspiration that was covering her skin.

"Do you believe what Narik said?" she asked at last. "That the unrest in the city has gone? That you've no need to go there?"

"Yes, I believe him. My people may have many failings, Ambassador, but dishonesty is not one of them. Whatever you may think of us, we're not liars."

"I did not intend to imply that you were," she acquiesced. When he offered nothing else, she said, "what do you think about the situation with Rotan and Silmoras?"

"I'm not sure. I do, however, know the law's position on this. By rights, the land belongs to Silmoras. He doesn't have to let anybody else onto it." He sighed. "But I can see Rotan's problem. Twenty seven is a large family, even by our standards. If their land is completely under water now, and they truly have nowhere else to go, they may end up living in those tents permanently. What's your take on it?"

"I think," she said cautiously, "that whatever decision you make, you need to bring your people together. Not drive them further apart. The rebellion has shown that together, you are strong. Alone, you are—"

"Weak," he finished for her.

They fell into silence that was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, each concerned with their own thoughts. The Cardassian people, Gin knew, had always been proud of their strength and accomplishments. Arrogant, most would say. They valued intelligence, cunning and strength, sacrificing joy, happiness and modesty. Their society was rigidly structured – everybody had their place. It was this breakdown of order that was undermining the Cardassians' belief in themselves. They had been broken of their arrogance and pride at a terrible cost, and now they had to find it again. They had to find something to be proud of. Something to believe in.

She glanced at Damar. Suddenly, she knew why he had received such a joyful reception in the encampment. He represented what the people had lost; pride, strength and cunning. He had turned against their oppressors, bloodied their noses, and driven them from Cardassian soil. Though the people had lost their homes and their government, and their pride in themselves, they could have pride in him. From the very beginning, she had hoped that she would be able to somehow bring the Cardassian people around to the Federation way of thinking. But if that happened, they might lose the qualities that were uniquely Cardassian. That was why, she realised, Gul Amaro was so opposed to her presence. Why he seemed to hate her, and everything she represented. To her disappointment, and with some disgust in herself, she realised that he was right to do so. But where was the line to be drawn? She desperately wanted to aid in the rebuilding of Cardassia. She wanted to see reforms, and more freedom for its people. But at what point did her interference cease to be beneficial, and start to become an insidious way of altering the Cardassian mindset?

"What is it?" he asked, when he noticed her staring at him. "You look upset."

"I... I don't think I should advise you about matters of governance," she said. Though it pained her to say the words, she knew they were the right ones.

He looked surprised, and for a moment, it chased away the look of pain on his face. "Why not?"

"Because Gul Amaro is right. He accuses me of wanting to change Cardassian society, to 'warp' it with 'twisted Federation ideals.' Even Garak remarked, the first time I met him, that the Federation can't stand to see something broken, that we feel an incessant need to fix things. To make things better. To make people more like us. I didn't realise it until now, but they're both right. I told you earlier that we like to lead by example. I came here hoping to set an example, and I hoped it was one your people would follow. But they deserve more than to be remade in my image. In the Federation's image. They deserve to remake themselves. I think... I'm not sure how impartial my advice to you can ever be."

"And it's taken you weeks to work that out?"

"I suppose I'm not as clever as I thought," she smiled sadly, and looked down at the patterns on her open fan.

"Ambassador," he said, and then stopped and looked thoughtful for a moment. "Gin. Your epiphany may come as a surprise to you, but I've known for a long time how the Federation works... if not its true motives. The very fact that you have figured out for yourself that your intentions are biased, tells me that you're the right person to advise me on such matters. What's the alternative? That they send me some other ambassador, one who lives in denial about their motives and intentions? One who thinks that the Federation's way is the best way for my people? If I wanted pure logic and impartiality, I'd go to a Vulcan. But a Vulcan could never be passionate about something... they would see numbers, instead of people. Problems, instead of lives. Now that you know you're not infallible, you'll be less inclined to give me biased advice. Besides, I need somebody to temper Amaro's traditionalist xenophobia, and Garak's realism and paranoia. Somebody who won't revere the ground I walk on just because I was fed up enough to stand up and say 'no.' If that person isn't you, then tell me now, and I'll ask the Federation for a new ambassador."

"I... I suppose I should at least try," she relented, her mind still caught up in his speech. It was the longest thing she'd ever heard him say.

"Good. If there's one thing I've learnt recently, is that it's better to try and fail, than to sit back and do nothing. Now that that's settled, finish your rations quickly. I know how to solve Silmoras and Rotan's problem."

She swallowed her last mouthful of rations and packed her small bag, then followed the Legate from the trees, back across the field to Silmoras' tent. Her mind still felt dazed – what had just happened? Her ideals, the very foundations of her world, had just been shaken by the revelation that her motives—the _Federation's_ motives—were not as pure as she had always believed. She'd been ready to quit her post, go back home, and rejoin her family business; trading was so much easier than politics, after all. And yet somehow, Damar had managed to sway her. He'd made it sound as if she was the only person who could do the job of Ambassador adequately, and that he was reliant on her advice. How could somebody she had known for little more than a day, so accurately understand how to manipulate her into following his suggestions?

Her mind was so deep in thought that she only noticed they were back at Silmoras' tent when she heard twenty-eight voices thrumming in the air. Rotan, it seemed, had brought his entire family to hear Damar's judgement. And, admittedly, she was interested in what he was going to say too. Silmoras was still clasping his phaser rifle, but he'd retreated to the entrance of his tent, clearly feeling outnumbered by the large family. At Damar's approach, they all fell silent.

"I've given your situation careful consideration," Damar said without preamble. "The letter of the law is clear. The land belongs to Silmoras. He can do with it as he wishes." There was a groan from the adults in the family. But Damar wasn't finished. He held up his hand, asking for silence, and got it immediately. "Silmoras. You are an old man. You have no family left. There is nobody who will build you a new house, and with twenty-thousand deaths in this region, you will find it difficult to hire help to work your fields, when they eventually dry out. According to the letter of the law, once you pass away, your lands will fall into possession of the state, because you have no family left to inherit them.

"Therefore, I propose, that instead of wasting your life, wasting the memories of your family, and wasting all of this land, you transfer the land deeds to so that upon your death, they will fall into possession of Rotan's children. In the mean time, you will allow him, and his family, to build a home on the land, in preparation for when the fields are once more dry."

Silmoras looked shocked by the proposition, whilst Rotan was looking smug. Before either man could comment, Damar turned to the latter.

"Rotan, you are old. I hope you have many years left, but when you die, your family will no longer benefit from your wisdom. Silmoras is younger than you, he will live longer, and perhaps your family may benefit from his wisdom instead. In return for living on his land, and eventually owning it, you and your family will build him a fine house, right next door to yours. You will feed him, clothe him, and treat him as an honoured elder should be treated. You will work his fields when they are once more fertile, and give him a generous percentage of all takings.

"All of you – these are difficult times for Cardassia. If we can't learn to live with each other, we are going to die alone, without friends or family to comfort us. There are not twenty seven members of your family standing here today. There are twenty eight. And over there, in the encampment, are hundreds more. 'Every man for himself' is not the Cardassian way. It is for Romulans, who care for little but personal gain. I say we show them how Cardassians stand up for one another. How times of struggle drive us closer together, not further apart."

"I suppose it would be nice to be around children again," Silmoras relented, putting down his phaser rifle. "It gets so lonely, sometimes."

"And allowing you to live with my family _would_ be a small price to pay for your generosity in allowing us to live on your land," Rotan said.

"I make wonderful sem'hal stew," one of Rotan's granddaughters said to Silmoras.

"We could build you a house right here," one of his sons said, and another nodded. "Or perhaps over there, on that small rise, so that you have a wonderful view of the fields and hills."

"I could help watch the little ones," Silmoras added. "Teach them and look after them whilst their parents are hard at work."

Gin felt tears prick her eyes. People who had only moments ago shouted words of venom at each other were now working together and planning their future. As various members of the extended family began walking around, laying out foundations in their head, describing where various buildings could go, she felt something plucking at her sleeve. Damar gestured for her to follow him, and they made their way unnoticed back to the boulders amongst the trees.

"You're not crying, are you?" he asked, once they were hidden from sight.

"Of course not," she snapped, fanning her face vigorously. "It's all this damned heat and bright sunlight making my eyes water."

"Hmph."

"Are you ready to return to Lakat now?"

"Return to Lakat? No... I feel like we're making progress. Let's go to one of those other places you reported previously. Which city was having problems with strikes in protest against the government?"

"Pallan," she said, consulting her datapad. "They're protesting military involvement." She glanced up, at his eyes which were still tinged red and had an unnatural tightness about them. "Are you sure you'll well enough?"

"Are you a doctor?"

"No."

"Then it's not your place to question my health."

"I was merely... expressing concern for your wellbeing."

"There are already far too many people concerned for my wellbeing. I am fine. You should be more concerned about advising me of political matters. Let me worry about my health."

"Very well," she sighed. "Pallan city it is, Legate." She tapped the comm badge on her bag. "Sarejevo, this is Ambassador Fox. Two to beam up, please."

o - o - o - o - o

One of Rotan's grandchildren—a young man, just into his adulthood—saw Legate Damar walk away from the group with the Human woman in tow. He followed at a distance and saw them step behind a pile of large boulders, casually strewn against the trees by the river during its flood. Wanting to thank the Legate for resolving the situation, and finally giving his family a place to live, he stepped around the boulder, his mouth already open to offer thanks.

There was nobody there. Looking around, he found no sign of either of them; they could not have walked on any further, because the tree line ended with a sheer cliff, carved out by the river. The Legate was simply... gone.

That night, stories were told in the encampment of Legate Damar, who had risen from the grave and appeared in their camp without warning, to spread word of his return and request that the people of Cardassia work together and follow him into the future. Tales were told of Legate Damar, who with only a few short words, had settled a quarrel that had been going on for three months. Rumours were passed around of the Legate who left as silently, swiftly, and mysteriously as he had arrived.

And from there, word of the saviour's return spread.


	8. Politics

Restoration

_8. Politics_

When Gin rematerialised in the Sarejevo's transporter room, the same young ensign was on duty.

"Please prepare to send us back to the planet," Gin told her. "We need to be transported to Pallan city."

"I'm sorry Ambassador, but the Captain needs to speak with you first," the woman said apologetically. "He's already on his way down."

"What does he need to speak to me about?"

"I don't know. He just asked that he be notified as soon as you were aboard."

Gin didn't have to wait long. A few seconds later, the Bolian captain strode into the room, dismissed the ensign with a nod of thanks, and then rounded on her. Bolians were known for their good natures and pleasant demeanours, so it was a shock to see anger, almost outrage, on his face.

"Ambassador," he said, his brows lowered into a deep frown, "I've just had half a dozen Cardassians ranting at me over the comm for the past hour. They claim you've kidnapped one of their prominent government officials. They want to lodge an official complaint with the Federation Council. They've asked me to suspend you from duty and return you to the capital city so that you can be arrested for treason. Now _what_ has being going on?"

Each accusation made her wince. She'd known that Amaro would be furious about her actions, but she hadn't thought he'd go so far as to contact one of the Starfleet ships about it. Clearly he was desperate to put an end to her presence on Cardassia, but why didn't he understand that if she was forced to leave, she'd merely be replaced with somebody else? Help came from an unexpected source.

"Captain," Damar said, stepping forward. "Please, allow me to extend my apologies to you. I asked the Ambassador to arrange transport for us to Tomakan city. Our own transporters have been less reliable of late, as we're suffering power fluctuations caused by repairs to the main power grid. The council are rather prone to blowing things out of proportion. I left them a message, explaining my change in plans, but clearly they didn't get it. I'm sorry for any inconvenience this has caused you. You can rest assured, however, that the Ambassador has done nothing wrong. She recommended we wait for the councillors to catch up with us before transporting, but I was not eager to delay my meeting in Tomakan city. I hope you can forgive me."

Captain V'Lat's eyes roamed over Damar's face and body, taking in his plain, mud-stained clothes, and the phaser side-arm at his hip. Suppressing a smile, Gin realised how crazy his words sounded. For a start, he looked nothing like a 'prominent government official,' and secondly, nobody was used to a Cardassian who apologised. Such words were normally a ruse, to throw an enemy off guard whilst preparing to strike. V'Lat clearly didn't know what to make of it all.

"And who might you be, sir?" he asked.

"Legate Damar. And on behalf of my people, I'd like to thank you for all the assistance that the Federation, and Starfleet, is rendering," he said, offering his hand.

"Legate Damar? But you're dead!"

"Not quite." V'Lat's eyes flickered to Gin, and Damar seemed to anticipate his next question. "The Ambassador and I only met for the first time yesterday," he added. "I'm afraid I've kept her rather busy with diplomatic tasks, since then. Otherwise, I'm sure she would have reported news of my survival to the Federation already."

"I see." The anger disappeared from his face as he looked Damar over again, seeing him for the first time. "Well. I can understand now why the council were so desperate to hear news of your location. It seems they don't want to let their hero out of their sights."

"Indeed," Damar said flatly. "And now, I'd be grateful if you could transport the Ambassador and I to Pallan city. I have business to attend to, there. Rebuilding the Cardassian Union is going to take time, which isn't something I have to spare right now. Every moment, more of my people are going cold, and hungry. Every moment is precious to me."

V'Lat ran his eyes over Damar again, considering the request. Of course, he did not have to agree to send the Legate anywhere – but Gin could see the admiration, and amusement, in his eyes. Bolians had an excellent sense of humour; if Damar wanted to out-wit the councillors who had been harassing the Captain for the past hour, then who was he to interfere in Cardassian politics?

"Very well," V'Lat agreed. "And in return for using my ship as a courier service to avoid your colleagues, I hope you will do me the honour of dining here with me tomorrow night."

Gin could see Damar was going to decline. How could he sit here and dine in peace while his people suffered? Despite his earlier words, calling for Cardassians to unite together, imploring them to work together for the future, he was still, in his heart, a soldier. A military man. He still had a lot to learn about politics. Not everybody got invited by Captains to dine aboard their ships. None of the councillors had been extended such an honour. She caught Damar's eye, gave him a quick scowl of warning, and nodded her head.

"Of course," Damar relented. "Thank you for your generous offer. And please, if the council members give you any more trouble, advise them that we have spoken, that I am well, and that I will return to the capital once my work is complete."

With a nod from his head, V'Lat stepped behind the transporter controls, and both Gin and Damar returned to the pad.

"Co-ordinates laid in for Pallan city. Good luck, Legate. Energising."

o - o - o - o - o

Lying on her back on a wide, flat boulder, Gin watched the sky darken, beautiful gold and red tones colouring the few clouds that dared mar the clear sky. Several large birds passed overhead, and they too were coloured gold, their brown feathers ignited by the setting sun, reminding her of the legend of the phoenix. Though she wouldn't admit it to anybody on the planet, the legendary bird would have fit in perfectly, here. Like its people and its leader, it too was capable of rising up through the ashes of its own destruction, being reborn into a new cycle of life. And though she knew her thoughts were growing dangerously poetic, she couldn't help but wonder about the fate of Cardassia. It all rested, she felt, on Damar's shoulders. He'd done more to unite the people in one day, than the entire council had done in three months.

Pallan had been a complete success. The striking workers, so opposed to the military, had welcomed a military officer amongst them, praising his actions during the rebellion as brave and heroic, lauding him constantly. In truth, it was not the military they feared, but a return to military rule. They'd seen enough of armed soldiers on the streets. Jem'Hadar, Breen, even their own Cardassian brethren... they were fed up of it.

At first they had been adamant that the military should not be involved in any way, shape or form, with controlling the new government, and they wouldn't return to work until they had assurances that no member of the military would be involved in making law. Then Damar had pointed out that he himself was a military officer, and they'd started to look a little uncomfortable. Then he'd pointed out that many of them undoubtedly had loved ones who served in the military – and they weren't bad men and women, were they? Bad leadership decisions, he'd said, came from all quarters. The military, he assured them, would not have unilateral control of the government; not whilst he lived. And if he had to fight for the rights of the people, he would. And if he had to die for them, he would. Again. And they'd laughed at that, because they knew it was true. With assurances from their hero, and no further arguments to put forward, the disgruntled workers had returned to their duties. And fortunately, Legate Damar hadn't needed to name any more children.

After the success of Pallan, he had insisted on travelling to a village called Tiklana; the one that had refused entry to Federation aid workers, going so far as to shoot at them. He'd then insisted, for her own safety, that she stay behind whilst he speak to the villagers himself. If they'd already shot at the Federation once, he pointed out, there was nothing to stop them from doing it again, and if that happened, the situation would have devolved into a firefight. One that he could not afford. Even though Gin hadn't liked waiting behind—and had liked letting the Legate go into Tiklana alone even less—she'd been forced to bow to the logic of his words. She was already skating on thin ice, and if she caused a violent incident, she knew Amaro and his cronies would use it as the final blow, and have her sent offworld no matter what Damar and the more progressive councillers might say.

The sky was dark blue by the time Damar returned, and the first stars were twinkling above, as if they had not a single care. As he climbed the few small boulders up to her position, she stood and dusted herself off.

"You took longer than I was expecting," she said.

"We had a lot to discuss."

"Will they allow Federation aid workers into the village?"

"No. They were quite adamant. When I explained that it may be some time before Cardassian relief teams are able to help them, they said that they just wanted to do it themselves. Stubborn and proud, those people."

"If you didn't get an agreement for Federation aid, what took you so long down there?"

"As I said, we had much to discuss." He held up a hand to stall her next question, then rubbed his temple with the palm of his hand. "Cardassian business. Now, it's done. Don't question me further. And since my business here is concluded, I think it's time to return to the capital. Please do what is necessary."

Trying not to let her bristling anger show, she contacted the Sarajevo and had them beam herself and the Legate aboard, and then back down to the embassy. The building was in darkness when they rematerialised in the entrance hall, but as soon as the computer detected them, it activated the lights. That caused Damar to shield his eyes with one hand, and clutch at his head with his other.

"Dim lights," she ordered the computer, and it complied immediately. "Are you alright, Legate?"

"I'm fine," he said angrily. "Or at least, I will be when my head stops trying to split itself in half."

"Come this way." Prodding and poking, she chivvied him against his protests into her office, and sat him down on the chair in front of her desk. He immediately folded himself over it, letting it take his weight as he buried his head in his arms to keep out the dim light. Gin quickly opened her comm console, and, despite the late hour, made a call to Doctor Rokann at the hospital. He appeared on screen looking tired but not yet dressed for bed. "Doctor, I need you to come to the embassy immediately," she said. "And bring a medical kit."

She spent the next fifteen minutes pacing in silence, keeping a close eye on Damar. She could see his body rise and fall slightly with each breath that he took, which reassured her somewhat, but he'd appeared to be in so much pain that she didn't want to disturb him with questions of whether he wanted anything. Had he been Human, she would have tried a cool damp cloth across his forehead, but being Cardassian, she didn't think he'd appreciate the cold.

When she heard the embassy door open, she ran out to meet the doctor, not wanting to shout her location in case it made Damar's condition worse. She found that he wasn't alone; Telor was behind him, carrying two medical kits. He gave her a worried smile when he saw her.

"Thank you for coming so swiftly, Rokann," she said, leading him towards her office. "He's in a lot of pain. I think it's his head. He said it feels as if it's splitting."

"Alright, alright," he said, taking a medical scanner from his belt and activating it before running it over Damar. "Legate, can you hear me?"

There was slight movement as Damar nodded his head. Rokann turned to Gin and Telor.

"You two, get out. I need room to work, and I won't get that with you hovering around like a pair of worried pika-hens. Go on, wait for me on the stairs."

Knowing it was a waste of time to even think about arguing with the doctor, she put an arm around Telor's shoulders and led him into the entrance hall. The door swished closed behind them, and they each took a seat on the stairs.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Telor asked, reminding her that even though he was rapidly becoming a young man, he was still a boy in many ways.

"I hope so," she said, offering him a small smile. "I think so. I mean... he's a fighter, right? If the Dominion couldn't kill him, a simple headache isn't going to keep him down for long."

"You're right. He's probably just been overworked. He's only been out of his sick-bed for a day. Or, well, nearly two. Don't worry. My father's a great doctor. He'll take care of the Legate."

"Of that I have no doubt. Anyway, how have you been? It's been a while since I last saw you."

"Things are much quieter now that the Legate's no longer at the hospital," Telor admitted. She could tell that he missed sitting with the man, and bringing him korat shoots, even if he didn't eat them. It had made him feel special, for a time. Useful. "My father's been helping to treat plague victims, mostly," the boy continued. "There's not much for me to do there, so I mostly use the terminals to study."

"What are you studying?"

"All sorts of things," Telor said eagerly. "I'm really interested in medicine, like my father. But also... I've been reading a lot about the Federation, and Earth." He gave her a guilty smile. "I figured that since you were putting so much effort into getting to know our customs and people, I'd try to get to know yours a little better. Then we can talk about different things."

"Have you learnt anything interesting?" she asked, curious about the alien boy's take on her own culture.

"Lots! For example, I've learnt that Humans haven't always been as peaceful as you are now. In the past, your people fought each other all the time, for thousands of years. Sometimes you fought over land, or wealth, or rights, or religion. It was quite interesting reading about the religions."

"Which one interested you most?"

"Buddhism. Is that how it's pronounced?" She nodded. "I like that idea that you should do good things for people, because then good things will happen to you. You get positive karma. And it made me think... the Dominion must have had a lot of bad karma. The Founders got sick and nearly died, and their army and fleet was defeated for the first time ever, right here at Cardassia. And then that got me to thinking, too. My people were allies of the Dominion. We're responsible for a lot of deaths of Federation and Klingon and Romulan people. We've probably got almost as much bad karma as the Dominion. From now on I'm only going to do good things, things that don't hurt anybody. Maybe I can get rid of some of that bad karma."

"Are you sure your father won't mind you reading about all of this?" she asked, worried that she might be accused of corrupting Telor.

"Not at all," Rokann said, stepping out of her office and slipping his medical tricorder back into his belt. "It keeps him out of trouble. And speaking of trouble, I've given the Legate a painkiller and a sedative. What he needs now is rest."

"I have several furnished rooms upstairs," she said. "Why don't we put him in one of the beds? It's got to be easier than getting him back to the council headquarters. Besides, I'm not really in the mood to explain all of this to Amaro."

"Alright. Telor, go and help the Legate upstairs to one of the bedrooms. He's only got a couple of minutes' walk left in him before that sedative fully knocks him out, and he'll need to borrow your strength to get there."

"Yes, father," Telor grinned, and jumped down the stairs, eager to help.

"The rooms are up the stairs and to the left, along the left side of the corridor," she called to him as he disappeared into her office.

"Can we go somewhere to talk?" Rokann asked her, as Telor manhandled Damar out of his chair.

Gin nodded, and led Rokann into the room to the left of the entrance hall. She had no idea what it had originally been, but she'd furnished it as a comfortable waiting area. She'd requisitioned several large, comfortable sofas and recliners, and they were positioned around a large, low, circular table made from maple wood and polished so that it shone. A drinks cabinet stood empty beside the fireplace, a neat row of drinking glasses on the shelf beside it.

"Can I get you anything to eat or drink?" she asked, standing beside the replicator.

"A glass of rokassa juice would be most welcome," he nodded, sitting down heavily on one of the sofas and rubbing his injured leg.

"Rokassa juice, chilled. Coffee, white," she said to the replicator. Since arriving, she'd programmed it with various Earth menus – coffee had been the first thing to go in. When both beverages appeared, she gave the chilled glass to Rokann, and waited for him to sip it gratefully before saying what she knew he was going to say. "It's my fault. After Tomakan city, the Legate wanted to go to Pallan. I saw that his head was troubling him even then. I should have said no. And I definitely shouldn't have let him go to Tiklana after that."

"Bah. Young men are headstrong and foolish. It's no more your fault than mine for releasing him in the first place. You couldn't have stopped him, even if you'd wanted to. He's determined to get his own way. If you ask me, a little bit of leadership experience has gone to his head."

"I'm not so sure. He still seems quite well-grounded. I wish you could have seen how he handled meeting people today. It's almost as if he was born to do this sort of thing... it comes so naturally to him. And yet, everything I've read in his file suggests that it shouldn't. It speaks of mediocrity in every aspect of his life. That he can command such respect and authority from the ordinary people is remarkable."

"So. The hero of Cardassia impresses even a Federation ambassador," Rokann said wryly.

"Don't worry. I can keep my objectivity."

"Good," he grunted in return. "The last thing we need is people deifying him. That will _really_ go to his head."

"Tell me something, Rokann," she said, leaning back into the sofa beside him. "Aren't you worried that my Federation ideals will corrupt your son?"

"Ambassador," he said, meeting her eyes with his, "over the past fifty years my people have been invaders, oppressors, despots, collaborators, rebels and victims. Our social structure has been overhauled so many times, we've had so many changes in leadership, that we've lost sight of what we are. Go out into the street and ask 'who are you?' to any Cardassian you meet, and you'll receive the same answer; _I don't know_. How are your ideals going to corrupt us, when we have nothing left to corrupt? How can _you_ make us any worse than we already are? How can your ideals cause us to lose our way, when we're already lost?"

"I see your point," she admitted. "But I don't think Damar knows who he is either. I don't think he has all the answers."

"I know. Do you think I'd let him attempt to lead our people if I thought he had a plan and knew what he was doing?" She gave him a look of disbelief, and he elaborated. "Our people have been led by too many men who've tried to impose their own visions, their own ways, onto us. First the Central Command, then the civilian government, then Dukat and his Dominion masters... the reins changed hands, but nothing really changed. Everybody was too afraid to make big changes, too afraid of upsetting the status quo. Now, we need big changes. We need someone to come along and say 'this isn't working very well, so let's try this instead.' We need someone who won't be afraid to be different."

"And you think Damar might be that man?"

"I hope so."

"What did you mean, when you said you wouldn't 'let' him lead if you thought he was trying to impose his own will onto people?"

"Oh, just an old man's joke. Ignore it; it wasn't even that funny," he smiled, though Gin wasn't so sure he was being honest with her.

At that moment, Telor returned to the room, and both adults looked up as he entered.

"Legate Damar went to sleep as soon as he got into bed," he said.

"That's not sleep," Rokann explained. "It's sedation. The next best thing."

"What's wrong with him, father?"

"Just some erroneous neural activity, probably an after-effect of being shot, dying, and whatever he's been through since then. I'll monitor the situation for now."

"Doctor, I have plenty of rooms here," Gin said. "I would be grateful if you and Telor would stay the night... I'd like you to be close, in case Legate Damar wakes in more pain."

"He won't wake," Rokann assured her.

"Please say we can stay, father," Telor begged, and Gin fought back a smile. The boy was so desperate to go wherever his hero went. And the hospital was undoubtedly quite boring for him now. "Please."

"Oh, alright," the elder man relented. "I suppose they can survive at the hospital without me for a night."

o - o - o - o - o

The next morning, Telor sat at the large table in the embassy's dining room, and pushed the boiled regova egg around his plate. He'd already had two, along with several rulot seeds and a glass of rokassa juice, but it was all replicated, and somehow it didn't taste quite the same as the real thing. Not bad, just slightly... different.

At the far side of the table, Gin was reading over reports on her datapad, her pale, elegant fingers flicking over the screen as she turned the pages. Something beige and lumpy was in a dish before her—she'd called it 'porridge', and claimed it was good, wholesome food, even though it looked like something a taspar might throw up—and she spooned it idly into her mouth, her gaze firmly fixed on the reports. As much as he wanted to discuss them with her, he knew that they were private and confidential. His being allowed to hear her reports before was due to extenuating circumstances.

Between Telor and Gin was Telor's father; he'd spread out several plates of food around him and was sampling pieces from them all. Some were Bajoran foods, some Cardassian, and even an Earth dish or two.

"These... tomatoes... have a rather interesting taste to them," his father said aloud, after he'd bitten into one of the red fruit-looking things. "I think they'd go well with sem'hal stew."

"I can provide you with the pattern code for your hospital's replicators, if you like," Gin said, though she didn't take her gaze from the pad.

Movement at the dining room door caught Telor's eye, and he saw Cardassia's leader step into the room.

"Legate Damar!" he blurted out, and then felt stupid for doing so. The man's blue eyes went straight to him. To cover up his outburst of emotion, he added, "good morning."

"Good morning," the Legate replied, and stopped by the replicator. "Redleaf tea." When the beverage—a mild stimulant—appeared, the Legate took the cup and sat at the table between Telor and Gin, opposite Telor's father.

"I trust you slept well, Legate?" his father asked innocently.

"Sleep? Is that what you call it when you drug me against my will?" the Legate replied.

"When you become a doctor, you can tell me what's best for my patients. Until then, I make the decisions."

"Hmph. As it is, I've been awake for hours. In fact, I've spent the last hour on the comm to the council, and told them I'll be returning later today for a meeting to discuss Cardassia's future." That made Gin glance up from her pad, and then she put it down on the table beside her bowl of half-eaten porridge. The Legate turned to address her. "I've been thinking about what you said. About what kind of government to form. I have some ideas and I'd like to hear your thoughts on them."

"That was fast," Gin said, and Telor saw the surprise in her eyes, which also flickered across her pale face, causing her eyebrows to rise a little. Though her appearance was still strange to him, it was no longer shocking to see her visage. "I thought you'd need a lot longer, to come to terms with what needs to be done."

"This is our cue to leave," Telor's father said, pushing his plate away and making to stand. "We'll leave the politics to the politicians."

"No," the Legate said, and lifted a hand, gesturing for his father to stay put. "Stay. Some of this will concern you as well. Besides, the ruling of Cardassia has gone on behind closed doors for too long."

For a wonder, his father sat back down, looking both amused and suspicious at the same time. When the Legate turned back to Gin, Telor felt that he and his father had been pushed into the background, though not excluded from the conversation.

"I'm not sure what sort of government would be best for Cardassia," the Legate admitted. Gin said nothing, but she looked thoughtful. And not at all surprised. "From what I can see, they all have advantages and disadvantages. Some are very close to what we've had before, whilst some are wildly different. So perhaps the best thing is not to pick one and make Cardassia conform to it, but to... make up whatever best suits us. Pick the best aspects from each, if it's possible."

"It's not always easy to combine different types of governments. What did you have in mind?" Gin asked.

"For a start, there are a hundred and five cities on Cardassia Prime, each of them ruled by an exarch, who see to it that law and order are maintained. In the past, exarchs have always been state-appointed, but I propose to make them... democratically elected by the people within their geographic areas."

"A democratically elected local official still has to enforce the rules as laid out by the planetary government," she pointed out.

"I'm aware of that," the Legate said curtly. Telor did not understand why he was being so defensive... he _had_ asked for Gin's thoughts, after all. "After our outing yesterday, it's clear to me that people, whether I like it or not, are going to follow my suggestions, and I think I can use that." For some reason, Gin's cool grey eyes flickered very briefly to Telor's father, before returning to the Legate. "But I know that my influence won't last forever. I might be the hero of Cardassia today, but I might not be tomorrow. And as much as I'd like to use my current influence to benefit the people, I know that I can't do it alone. What I propose is appointing various ministers, to oversee different aspects of governance. Education, intelligence services, agriculture, the arts, science, justice, trade, military... and so forth. How does this sound so far?"

"I think it is a wise choice to appoint ministers," Gin replied. For a moment, she sounded just like a Vulcan, all coolness and logic. "My people have a saying – absolute power corrupts absolutely. One man might hold the reins to an empire, but if he falls, the entire empire falls with him. By decentralising that power, you make one person responsible for just one aspect of governance. If one person falls, the others stand firm, and there is less of an impact on society. But I don't see the connection between these ministers and the exarchs."

"I was coming to that. I'd like the ministers to propose changes to their areas of expertise. But the power to decide on change should not lie with them. The exarchs will vote on whether or not to accept change, on behalf of their people."

"And in the event of a tie?"

The Legate looked thoughtful for a moment. "I suppose... if an exarch is willing to give up his or her position to support a particular change, then that change will be agreed. But the exarch will never again hold a position of power in the government. That should stop them from abusing what power they have, and will ensure that if they truly think a decision is best for the people under their jurisdiction, they are willing to sacrifice for them."

"It could work," Gin said. She looked _very_ thoughtful now, her gaze turned inward as she ran scenarios through her mind. When her eyes returned to the Legate's face, they showed approval, even though her posture seemed somewhat... guarded. "I have some advice for you, though you may not like it."

The Legate leaned back in his chair. "I'll hear it anyway."

"I think it's safe to assume that there are many people who feel they are best qualified to operate as ministers, and that the posts are finite. Power and wealth do not always work well together, for a man who has both needs nothing. Therefore, I suggest that the role of minister is voluntary. Give your ministers power, but do not give them wealth. If they truly care about Cardassia's future, they will serve regardless of pay."

The Legate's grey face was blank, and Telor could see that he was giving the suggestion serious consideration, weighing up the pros and cons of such an arrangement. Telor himself could see the wisdom in it; power and wealth would attract the greedy and the opportunistic. At least power, on its own, would attract only the opportunistic, whilst the greedy would have to look elsewhere for wealth. Unfortunately, somebody in the room did not agree. Telor's father burst out laughing.

"A government official with no pay? Who on Cardassia is going to accept working as a minister without earning a wage?"

Legate Damar looked at his father, a dangerous gleam in his bright blue eyes. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe I should ask my new Minister for Health."

Telor had never seen his father looked shocked, before. Horrified at the atrocities done by the Dominion, yes, but not shocked into speechlessness. Yet that was what had happened now; his father was merely sitting there, his mouth open, staring in disbelief at a man half his age, a man who, in any other situation, he would have had no problem with bullying into compliance. It seemed that now, the tables had turned, and at last his father recovered from his shock.

"Me? Minister for Health? Out of the question! I'm a doctor, not a politician."

"And I'm a soldier, not a world leader," Damar said calmly. "But we must all do our part, for Cardassia."

"You... you can't just make me be a minister!" his father objected, sounding angry and petulant.

"I can and I will. For the time being, you can also act as my chief physician. You'll be able to drug me as much as you want. That ought to make you happy."

"I... but... I..."

"Congratulations, Minister Rokann," Gin said, leaning forwards with a smile.

"But..."

"Moving on," said the Legate.

"Cardassia's economy is in ruin," said Gin, pushing the new Minister's complaints into the background. "When you appoint a Finance Minister, it's going to need to be somebody who is an expert in finances and numbers. Somebody who can use every available skill and contact they possess to help pull Cardassia through its financial difficulties."

"And you know such a person?"

She shook her head, her loose brown hair flying briefly through the air. Telor had never seen a woman with loose hair before; Cardassian women preferred to put theirs in intricate arrangements, almost as if it was a type of artwork. Telor thought Gin's way of wearing her hair loose made her look young, almost child-like.

"No," she said. "But I do have a suggestion. When you appoint a Finance Minister, appoint a Ferengi."

"You're right," Damar said darkly. "That's not a suggestion that I like. I don't trust the Ferengi. And even if I did, not one of them would work for free under our conditions."

"I don't know... Grand Nagus Rom is bringing about many reforms. He might be persuaded to lend you an advisor on a temporary basis."

"Rom?!" Now it was the Legate's turn to be shocked. "_Rom_ is Grand Nagus?"

"He succeeded Zek several months ago, just prior to the invasion of Cardassia."

"Then I _definitely_ won't be getting a Ferengi advisor. I once locked Rom up in a holding cell ready for the Dominion to execute him."

"I've heard that Grand Nagus Rom is a very... forgiving... man," Gin smiled. "Will you at least think about it? He'll be attending the summit next month. Perhaps you could speak to him about it then?"

"The summit," the Legate grunted. "I'd almost forgotten about that. We'll be having quite a lengthy conversation about that, you and I. But not yet. First I have a government to build. Did you have any more suggestions which I won't like?"

"I saved the best for last." She steeled herself before continuing. "It is regarding the relief efforts." When she stopped, the Legate gestured for her to continue. "As you know, the Federation is doing all it can to bring aid to Cardassia, but it is difficult. The bulk of the Federation planets are centred away from Cardassian space, making resupply a lengthy task. We're restricted to bringing only imperishable goods and medicines. You do, however, have a much closer neighbour that may be willing to offer aid."

"Out of the question," the Legate said instantly. Telor could see the anger bubbling beneath the surface of his eyes. "Even if the Bajorans were willing to send aid, which I sincerely doubt they are, I cannot ask my people to eat the food provided by those they formerly ruled and disliked."

Either Gin couldn't see his veiled anger, or she ignored it. "Your replicators are already programmed with various Bajoran foods," she pointed out. "Would it really be all that different to ask them to eat real food, instead of replicated?"

"Yes. It would. The humiliation would be a death knell to them." He scowled at her, the scales on his brows lowering. "And if you knew anything about Cardassians, you wouldn't have suggested it."

Gin lifted her chin in defiance. "I do know a thing or two about Cardassians, Legate, but as so many of your countrymen have pointed out, I myself am not Cardassian. More than once you've asked for an outsider's view. Now you have it. As you have said, you don't have to act on any of my advice, but I would be negligent in my duties if I did not make you aware of all available options. Perhaps you value negligence in those you work with, but I don't."

"I wouldn't mind some fresh kava," Telor's father said, in an attempt to diffuse the situation. Both politicians were staring at each other defiantly; it was a wonder the air between them wasn't sizzling with the heat. "That's one thing I miss about Bajor. The food."

"I will... consider... your suggestion," Damar told Gin, ignoring Rokann's words.

"That is all I ask," she said, with a small nod of her head. "Though there is one more thing. What is to be your position within this new government, Legate?"

"I was thinking of a new title. Something short and memorable," he said. "Overlord, perhaps." Telor's father gave a grunt of amusement, and Gin smiled. The Legate continued. "In truth, I don't know. As much as I'd like to be the one making the decisions, that sort of role just doesn't fit in with what I have planned."

"May I make a suggestion?" He nodded. "What about 'First Minister'. You could have an advisory role over all the ministers."

"I have no issue with the role, but I don't like the title. The Bajorans have a First Minister, and I don't want it to seem that we're mimicking them."

Gin rolled her eyes. "In the history of my country, our first Minister was called the Prime Minister. If that still sounds a little too... alien... for you, what about Prime Exarch? You can shorten it to Primarch, if you prefer."

"Hmm. Primarch," he said thoughtfully. "It has a nice sound to it. I'll put it to the council, and see what they think. Now, if that is all, I need to be going. I have a council full of men and women to convince to form a government." He stood, and looked to Telor's father. "Minister, I would be grateful if you would come with me."

"Fine, fine," Telor's father sighed. "Stay here, son. I'll come and collect you after the Legate has finished running me ragged."

"Legate," Gin said, standing up, "you haven't forgotten that you're dining with Captain V'Lat tonight, have you?"

"Of course not."

"If you would like me to stop by the council chambers later, to advise you on what to wear—"

"I've been capable of dressing myself for a long time now, Ambassador," the Legate said wryly. "I'm sure I can manage."

She bowed her head again, and both the Legate and his father left. Telor felt disappointed that he hadn't been allowed to go with them, and Gin most have noticed his expression, though he tried to hide his true feelings.

"We are fortunate that the Legate allowed us this much insight into his plans," she said, stepped around the table to clasp her hand on his shoulder. "But the forming of this new government is not for you or I to be involved in."

"I know. I just wish I was older," he admitted. Gin gave a small laugh.

"When you are older, you will wish you were younger. It's a special sort of irony. But now that you're here, would you like to help me?"

"Of course," he said, his mood instantly brightening. "What do you need me to do?"

"When the council gave me this building, it was in a rather forlorn condition. I tidied the first two floors as best I could, and put everything I didn't need into what appeared to be a large store-room in the attic, that was already filled with things... old furniture, toys, clothes, memorabilia... now I think, with your help, we might be able to sort through it all and pick out what might be useful. Perhaps it can be of benefit to some poor family whose home was destroyed by the Jem'Hadar."

"I can't think of anything I'd rather do," he said. It might not be as good as watching history being made, but at least he'd be helping his people.


	9. Leaders

Restoration

_9. Leaders_

The attic of the embassy was dark and dusty, and Gin had lost count of the number of times she had sneezed over the past two hours. Still, it had been a worthwhile way to spend time. This room had needed clearing out, and she'd been putting it off for too long already. With somebody to help her it was far less tedious a chore, and after two hours they'd already sorted out half of the items in the attic, forming them into small piles of things that would be useful for different age-groups. Clothes were separated into men's, women's and children's. Furniture was cleaned and put to one side. Toys were checked to ensure they were still safe for use. Memorabilia were set aside in a safe-box; Gin hoped she could someday return them to their rightful owners. Meanwhile, anything that was broken beyond repair, obsolete or simply no longer fit for purpose, was cast aside so that when the city's recycling plant was rebuilt, it could be broken down into parts for something else.

"Do you think the council will ask Bajor for aid?" Telor asked her. He was cleaning a green and gold vase, polishing it with a cloth. Gin had no idea how much the thing was worth, what its materials were, or whether it was just a piece of junk, but she liked it. She thought she would find some flowers for it, and put it in the waiting room so that any future Cardassian visitors would feel more at home.

"I have no idea," she admitted. "I hope they will. Damar says it will be a humiliation, but I think it will teach people humility. And perhaps will lead on to friendship."

"I'd like to see Bajor, some day," he said wistfully.

"Who knows? Maybe one day, you will."

They fell to silence for a while, as another vase was brought out and cleaned. This one was red and gold, and after checking it for cracks, she handed it to Telor for cleaning whilst she rooted around in the bottom of the trunk it had come from.

"I don't think father and I will be returning to the hospital," Telor offered at last. He didn't sound the least bit sorry about it.

"No, I suppose not. I think the Legate will want your father to remain close. He is the first new Minister to be appointed, after all. He's going to have a lot of new duties, and a lot of new responsibilities. He's going to need your support." It seemed like a suitably Cardassian thing to say, and Telor nodded, eager to prove himself a loyal son.

"Who else do you think will be appointed as Ministers?"

"Well, he'd be foolish not to make use of Garak's experience in the Obsidian Order. And from what I remember, there was a promising young woman called Makala, I think she'll ask for one of the positions. Plus, I've got a feeling that Amaro will want a place by the Legate's side."

"The air's so stale in here," Telor said. Then he sneezed twice. "How much more do you think is left to do?"

Gin surveyed the piles of boxes covered with tarpaulins. "At least another two hours' work, I'd say. But I tell you what, we'll just do this large cabinet, and then we'll have a break for some lunch and a drink. How does that sound?"

"Fine to me," he grinned.

Together they made their way around a small pile of crates, to a tall dusty cabinet. When they were able to pry it open, they found clothes hanging inside it, and shoes sitting in the bottom.

"A wardrobe," Gin said, and the boy nodded. "Good. Clothes are more useful than trinkets or toys. The people who lost everything in the orbital strike will benefit most from this."

They took to the shoes first, adding them to the slowly growing piles. Then they took out items of clothing; shirts for both men and women, tunics, trousers, skirts and dresses, sashes and belts and even a woman's hat or two. Everything was folded up neatly, placed in its appropriate pile, ready to be taken downstairs. Peering into the dark expanse of the wardrobe, she saw one last item, dangling from a hanger. At first she thought it was merely an old sack left in there by mistake. Then she saw that the sack had a zip. Not a sack, then; a covering.

"Telor, give me a hand with this," she said, holding it up with the zip towards him. Taking hold of it, he lowered it, and gasped in surprise as he pulled off the covering. Beneath it was a floor-length dress of intricate detail. A rich silver mesh cloak was sewn over the top of a gold bodice, which itself gave way to a skirt made of two overlapping diagonal panels, one a deep, regal purple, the other a dark blood red, with a gold and silver sash that wrapped itself around the waist and down to the bottom of the legs, like a serpent coiled around a branch. The whole thing terminated in the same regal purple border at the bottom, and the sleeves were of the same purple hue, long and floating, but sheer like satin rather than solid like the skirt. The needlework on it was exquisite, and small, sparkling iridescent gems had been sewn in beautiful swirling patterns across the front of the silver cloak. It was one of the most beautiful and intricate items of clothing she had ever seen, but it didn't seem particularly Cardassian. Had one of the former members of this house bought it from elsewhere?

"Wow," said Telor, his eyes roving over the gleaming material. "This is nice. Really really nice. If you ask me, it's too nice to give away."

"You want to keep it?"

He rolled his eyes. "What would _I_ want with a dress? I meant _you_ should keep it."

"I can't keep this. It's not mine. It's too nice. Somebody else needs it more than I do."

"If we give this away to somebody who's homeless, it will get ruined. Besides, it looks to be about your size. Hold it up to yourself."

Reluctantly, she agreed. It felt a little creepy to be sizing herself up for somebody else's clothes. Somebody who might even be dead. Telor seemed to have no such compunctions as he flashed her an approving grin.

"I think you'll look great in this."

"I'm not really a dress person," she objected feebly. "They're... inconvenient. Plus, you can't fight in them."

"You can fight?"

She nodded. "My father made my brother and I take krav maga classes. I have a black belt, third dan. My brother took it to fifth. My father felt that it was important we learn to defend ourselves. He himself is a great lover of martial arts. It seems like he takes up a new one every year."

"Will you tell me about your family?"

"Alright. But over lunch. I don't want to stay up here all day."

"But you're keeping the dress, right?"

"Telor," she sighed, but he interrupted her.

"I insist. You've already done so much to help my people. I might not own it, but it belongs to my people, and I'm gifting it to you. Please, accept it. For... good karma!"

She gave him a skeptical glance, then sighed. Though she rarely wore dresses, she had a fine eye for quality and fashion, and there was no doubt that this dress was unique. Besides, if she _didn't_ accept it, Telor would probably tell his father about it, and then she'd have both of them nagging her into it! Clearly it was a situation she could not win, therefore she decided to lose with grace.

"Very well," she accepted. "I thank you for your gift, Telor. It is most generous of you."

"Great! So, are you ready to get some food now?"

Feeling suspiciously like she'd been tricked by the boy but unable to do anything about it, they left the dusty attic and, after a quick stop at Gin's bedroom to deposit the dress somewhere safe and less musty than its former home, they went down to the dining room and got lunch from the replicator. Sitting down at the table, Gin realised that for the first time since she had arrived, she hadn't spent every waking moment thinking about Cardassia and its problems. Instead, she'd managed to have an afternoon of doing chores in the company of somebody she liked. It almost seemed a shame to leave the attic, to come out of that sanctuary, and when Telor reiterated his previous question, she was further pulled from the comfort zone of menial labour.

"Will you tell me about your family now?" he asked. "I want to know everything."

"Everything, huh?" she smiled. "That might take a while. But I'll give you the basics. My family are originally from Scotland, which is a tiny country on a little island, next to a continent called Europe. It's very green and mountainous in Scotland... and very rainy. Not quite as rainy as Ferenginar, but probably not far off. But it's a beautiful place, with deep lochs—those are lakes—nestled between the mountains like jewels hidden deep inside a stone, just waiting to be found and admired.

"Many many centuries ago, my family were part of the McFallochs clan. You know how warlike we used to be back then, and the Celts were no different. We lived feudally, governed by a single lord, and built mighty castles around our lands. They're very impressive, castles. I think your people would like the style of architecture, all designed for fighting and defending. Very... practical. Anyway, over the centuries, things changed, as things are wont to do. Eventually, the McFallochs shortened their name to McFochs, and then later dropped the 'Mc'. Our name was then anglicised to Fox, which is how we are known today.

"My family are very wealthy. I tell you this not to brag or gloat, but to tell you what sort of background I come from. We've been traders for a very long time, and quite successful ones, too. We deal in everything from food to commodities, machinery to construction materials."

"Are your parents still alive?"

"Yes. And I lived with them in Scotland, at least until I came here. My brother and his wife, and their daughter, lived just down the road from us, just on the edge of a loch. I used to love going there, sitting out in the sun—the few times it was sunny—and watching the water lap at the shore. It was so peaceful. So... tranquil," she said, with a small smile for fond memories.

"What made you decide to leave them and come here?" Telor asked. He'd drunk half his fish juice, but his food was mostly untouched. Apparently, he was far more interested in her account.

"Well, I'd always been interested in alien cultures, and in diplomacy. I decided to enrol at an Earth school to study those sorts of things. My family were very supportive. Knowledge of alien cultures is considered a great advantage in the trade industry; learning how other peoples work and trade, and what their ethics and bargaining methods involve, can give you a real edge in galactic affairs." The memory of the next part of her life brought familiar pain to her heart, so she decided to gloss over it. "After I graduated, I realised I wouldn't be content with life as a trader, even if I could have been a very good one. Everything was in chaos with the war... I wanted to help people. When I learnt that the Federation was sending aid to Cardassia, and looking to open diplomatic channels, I asked if I could be considered for the role of ambassador. Admittedly, I did a little more than ask. I begged, wheedled and cajoled. My instructors at the academy supported my request; they felt I needed a chance to prove myself, something to challenge me, and they thought I could do a good job here. Plus," she said a little hesitantly, "I don't think Cardassia was most other ambassadors' idea of a good place to be stationed. Your people have hardly garnered a sterling reputation throughout the quadrant as being welcoming to outsiders. But I wanted to come here and try."

"I'm glad you did," Telor smiled. "I've learnt a lot from you.

"Thank you, Telor. That's the nicest thing any Cardassian has ever said to me."

She got the feeling that, had he been human, he would have blushed, and he turned his attention quickly to his plate of barely-touched food. And Gin realised something; whether or not she succeeded in her diplomatic mission, whether she turned out to be a great ambassador or a terrible one, she would always have at least one friend here on Cardassia.

o - o - o - o - o

Telor stayed with her for several more hours. Once they had finished clearing out the attic, they shared an evening meal and further conversation. From Telor she learnt that Cardassians enjoyed debating over meals – indeed, the mealtimes were seen as much as a chance to have a good conversation or debate, as they were to eat food. It surprised her, because from what Damar had said—that nobody asked questions when the military was in charge—she had expected that Cardassians wouldn't enjoy debating all that much. Not so, it seemed.

Merak Rokann returned for his son as the sky was already dark, in a surly mood and grumbling about how long he'd been made to stay in the council headquarters when he could be doing, in his own words, "more important work." He declined her invitation to stay for dinner or even a drink, and took Telor back to their home several streets away. The boy waved goodbye as they left, and Gin waved back.

Then she'd turned her gaze to the sky. Somewhere, up there, the Sarajevo was in orbit. Up there, Captain V'Lat and Legate Damar were sharing a meal and hopefully not managing to cause a diplomatic incident. She was well aware that it had been in vogue, quite recently, for Bolian skin to be worn as a fashion accessory by some Cardassians, particularly the women. They prized its bright blue colour. It was a barbaric practice that shocked and sickened Gin. How could anybody wear the skin of a sentient being who had been murdered to be turned into a fashion item? Unfortunately, what was happening in orbit was out of her control. She could only cross her fingers and hope for the best.

The next day was business as usual. She heard nothing from the council or from Rokann, so went about her daily routine of co-ordinating relief efforts and ship movements in the sector, as well as sending and receiving a multitude of reports. Knowing that V'Lat, if he hadn't already, would soon be reporting on Legate Damar's survival, she sent a quick missive updating the Federation Council of her progress on Cardassia, advising them that the Legate was attempting to form a government and she would send them further information once it became available.

Cardassia's hot sun was halfway on its journey to the horizon when her comm system activated. When she opened the message, she found a missive, requesting her attendance at the council headquarters, so that she could deliver her reports. Hoping that this was a good indication of Damar's success, she gathered every report that she could and set off for the council building. It was strange to go there unescorted by a Cardassian guard, but either Gul Amaro felt that she no longer needed one, or, and this was infinitely more likely, Damar had asked Amaro to stop having her escorted everywhere.

She was met outside the headquarters by a guard, who led her into the building without a word, and took her down several long corridors. Stopping outside a door, he pressed the call button, and waited. When the door opened he stepped inside and Gin followed. It was a large office, with an oval window behind providing a view of the city. A large desk was positioned just before the window, and behind the desk, Damar was sitting, dressed, once more, in civilian clothing. He glanced up at the pair as they entered.

"Ambassador Fox to see you, Primarch, as requested," the guard said.

"Thank you. You may leave."

The guard gave a sharp bow, made an about-turn, and left, his posture rigid and professional. When he was gone, Damar gestured towards the chair in front of the desk, which she accepted.

"Primarch?" she asked, raising a questioning eyebrow at the man.

"The council agreed that a new title was in order. They preferred Primarch to Overlord, I'm sorry to say." She smiled, and he continued. "In truth, I have little power myself. I lead the council in their meetings, guide it as best I can, but they're under no compulsion to follow my orders."

"Then you gave up a lot," she remarked.

"Maybe not as much as you think," he said, a wry tone to his words. "The majority of them still see me as the rest of the population does; a hero. I told them what I wanted, they nodded and smiled. Yes, I could be Primarch, they said. Yes, I would advise them, they said. In reality, they want me to lead. Democracy does not come easily to my people. Oh, they'll fight for what they think is the best way, but ask them to work together, to find a solution that is suitable for all concerned... it confuses and worries them. They want to obey, for the most part. They think they want to make decisions, but they're afraid of it. And they're afraid that if they go against my wishes, the population will rise up once more and depose them. They know that, if I ask it, it will happen. And besides, they rather like the idea of me at the head of the government. It gives them somebody to hang up before the crowds if everything goes wrong."

"And how did your meal with V'Lat go?"

"Well enough," he said evasively. She gave him a blank stare, and he sighed. "V'Lat is a soldier. Soldiers are people I can relate to. We talked about war and fighting and what I want for Cardassia, etcetera etcetera. I may not have your diplomatic skill, Ambassador, but I _can_ have a simple meal without sparking a new war."

She held up her hands in defence. "I meant nothing by it."

"Of course not. Regardless, your reports—which will be made shortly to myself and the council—are not the only reason I asked you here. I'm also officially advising you that a new government has been formed. All ministers have been assigned, excepting the finance minister. As you suggested, I'm going to look into the possibility of a Ferengi advisor." She knew she looked surprised, because Damar continued when he saw her expression. "Despite what you may think, Ambassador, I'm not so naïve—nor arrogant—to think that Cardassia can survive on its own right now. In the immediate future, we're going to need all the help we can get. I might not _like_ all of your suggestions, but I _do_ take them under advisement. Half the council were up in arms when I told them I was considering a non-Cardassian for the role of finance minister, but a few of them saw the wisdom of it. I will tell you this now, honestly, because there is no point in you hearing it from anyone else. I presented the idea as my own. Everything that we spoke of, I presented as my own ideas. Not because I want glory, or anything of the sort, but because my people will be more inclined to follow the ideas if they believe they come from a Cardassian hero, rather than a Federation diplomat. Too many of them already think you have too much to say, and too much influence. If they knew my suggestions came from you, they would not only oppose me outright, but use it as political ammunition against me."

"You don't need to explain yourself," she replied. "I understand why you need to present my advice as your own ideas. To do otherwise would risk what little stability is present here. You must do what is necessary to preserve the peace."

"I'm glad you understand," he said, sounding a little surprised that she wasn't upset or outraged by his admission. "And to that end, I'd appreciate any more advice you can give me. Also, I apologise in advance if the tone I have to take with you during the upcoming debriefing has to be somewhat... cold. This new government is a precarious thing, and—"

"And you can't be seen deferring to or pandering to a Federation official, on your own planet, in your own headquarters. It would make you look weak." She smiled at the expression on his face. "I told you, Primarch. I do understand something about Cardassians."

"I remember Garak saying he underestimated you," he said, an appreciative gleam in his eye. "Perhaps I have, too. Regardless, here are the new postings." He slid a datapad across the desk to her. On it were a list of positions within the new government, and names beside them.

"I'm glad to see you've made use of Garak's expertise," she said. His name was listed beside 'Minister for Intelligence & Internal Security.' Gin's eyebrows rose in surprise at the next familiar name, the one beside the role of 'Minister for Military'. "_Legate_ Keran Amaro?"

"I promoted him," Damar said. "I couldn't have a Gul in charge of the military. Now he's both a Legate and a Minister. That should satisfy the troops and the civilians."

"Hmm," she said, scanning the list further. "Ziyra Makala... Minister for Science and Technology? She's promising... but young."

"Only a year younger than yourself, Ambassador. She's not _that_ young."

"Perhaps I just feel old, then." She glanced up to look at Cardassia's first ever Primarch. "How many of your ministers are ex-military?"

"Two. Amaro and Riala Parnon. You'll notice she's the new Minister for Justice and Law. She's been a well-respected Gul for over twenty years. She was the first who turned her ship during the rebellion to fire on the Dominion. There's also two former members of the Obsidian Order. Garak, of course. The other is Kabor Unaran, a former intelligence operative. He's the new Minister for Foreign Affairs & Diplomacy. Both men, I believe, are well-suited to their new roles. In total, that gives me two military, two Obsidian Order, and seven civilians. Not including, of course, the yet unspecified Minister for Finance. I thought that seemed a good spread. Now the civilians can't complain that the military are too involved in government affairs, and the natural suspicion and distrust between the military and the intelligence branch will keep those individuals with their eyes on each other, rather than me."

"Very clever, Primarch. I must admit, though, I'm surprised that Amaro wanted to be a Minister under your terms. No pay beyond cover for basic amenities?"

"Despite what you might think, Amaro is not a bad man," Damar said, coming to the defence of his fellow military officer. "He wants what's best for Cardassia, and is not interested in personal profit. You may not like him, and he might not like you, but your goals are the same. You'll just have to learn to get along."

"I'll try my best," she said drily.

"Good. These are trying times for all of us. And now, the council awaits. And before you ask about what to name it in your report, we've settled on "Cardassian United Council" for now. Hardly original, but we couldn't decide on anything more suitable."

"Duly noted."

He led her from the room, and then down a series of corridors which looked pretty much identical to each other. No matter how much time Gin spent in this place, she always ended up getting lost. Luckily, she'd always been with a Cardassian escort, but she had yet to figure out what trick they used to memorise the layout of the building.

Eventually they entered a hallway that terminated in a tall, wide door. It opened automatically at their approach, and revealed a long, rectangular table, with fourteen seats around it – one at each head, and six down each side. Eleven of the seats had been taken; naturally, Gul Amaro—no, she corrected herself, Legate Amaro—had snapped up the seat to the right of the empty one at the head of the table no doubt meant for Damar. Garak hadn't been much slower; he had the seat to the left. The next five seats on the right had been taken, and four on the left, leaving an empty space at the bottom left and very bottom, facing the top. As soon as Damar entered, the councillors stood respectfully. Amaro's chest was so puffed up that Gin thought he might explode. But obviously, he hadn't been expecting her presence, because he looked surprised, and a little angry, when he saw her follow Damar into the room. The guard waited outside.

"Please take the empty seat at the foot of the table," Damar said to her. Then, standing behind the empty chair at the head of the table, he said to his fellows, "I've asked the Ambassador here for two reasons. First, she is here to report on Federation activities and aid efforts. Second, I wish her to report back to the Federation of the progress we have made. We have to be seen taking action, helping our people to overcome terrible adversity. The more they see us doing, the more inclined they will be to trust we are doing what is right for Cardassia, and the faster they will be gone. Does anybody object?"

He looked around, at every face, but nobody spoke, not even Amaro. Maybe, Gin thought, he was right. They feared to oppose the hero of Cardassia, because of what the people might do if they heard. Cardassia could not afford another rebellion, but the people were so disgruntled and disillusioned that the slightest thing might set them off. The planet was a roiling soup of political factions and angry men and women. One wrong move, and Cardassia could destroy itself far more messily than the Dominion could have managed.

When it was clear nobody would object to Gin's presence, Damar continued.

"You may be seated," he said, but he remained standing himself. Gin, at the foot of the table, was closest to Rokann, who had chosen to sit at the bottom end. Once everybody was settled, Damar stood a little straighter, addressing everybody present. "Tomorrow, I will be announcing to the residents of Lakat city, about our new government. This message will go out to only the residents of this city. That way, if there are objections or protests, we will only have to control unrest in one area, as opposed to the entire planet." There was a murmur of agreement at the wisdom of his idea, and he carried on with his speech.

"As we are still suffering from communications problems, and because much of our local infrastructure has been affected, we will be slower to hear news of unrest. As well, the chain of command has been broken, our hierarchies in disarray. Therefore, once every day, for the next eleven days, one of you will spend an afternoon in an appointed building, where members of the public may come to you and voice their concerns. We have to show the people that we are listening to them. People who cannot voice their concerns grow frustrated as their anger becomes pent-up. I'm sure none of us wants to see that anger unleashed. Once we have advised all cities of our new government, I will expect each of you to visit the cities on a regular basis—each city should be visited by a minister once per week—until normal lines of communication have been opened and the local exarchs updated with all relevant information that they need. I consider these visits part of your ministerial duties. Failure to carry them out will mean I look for a new minister. Is anything about that unclear?"

"Ah, who will be the first to address the concerns of the locals tomorrow?" Garak asked.

"You will, Garak," Damar said, and Amaro gave the new Minister for Intelligence & Internal Security a smug look. "I don't care what order you all do it in. Arrange something between yourselves. And now Ambassador, please give us your Federation reports."

As Damar took his seat, Gin stood and activated her datapad. Everything she wanted to cover was listed as bullet-points. She worked through them meticulously, providing as much information as she could, answering the questions aimed at her by men and women whose names and faces she only vaguely knew. When she reached the end of her report, she remembered something else. Something she had not had chance to write down on her pad before being summoned to the building.

"There is one more thing, Primarch," she said. He nodded for her to continue. "It is regarding the flooded farmland outside Tomakan city. As promised, I looked into any solutions, but was unable to find one myself. When I posed the question to the chief engineer of the Sarajevo, however, he suggested that by modifying a ship's phaser array to emit a broad-spectrum, low-energy sustained pulse, it might be possible to heat the water to an extent that its rate of evaporation is increased tenfold. With your permission, I'd like to forward the recommendation onto your Minister for Science & Technology, and Minister for Agriculture, so that they might discern the best way to adapt one of your ships, and if necessary, liaise with the Sarajevo to do so."

"Very good," Damar said. "I'm sure Minister Makala and Minister Jaral are looking forward to receiving your data." The woman and the man respectively nodded their heads in acceptance. "Thank you, Ambassador," Damar continued, and Gin took her seat once more. "As you are all aware, in little under six weeks' time a summit is to be held at the Federation space station Deep Space Nine—"

"You mean Terok Nor," Amaro interrupted. Damar ignored him.

"—To which we have been invited. Naturally, we cannot all go. Most of us will need to remain here, to make sure things are running smoothly. We'll meet again in two weeks' time to officially discuss who will be part of the delegation to the summit. Ambassador," Gin looked up at his mention of her, "I'm afraid that the council is going to be very busy for the next couple of weeks. Therefore, we won't have chance to hear any more reports, but I would like you to return in two weeks, to be present for the discussion of the summit. As the Federation Ambassador to Cardassia, we would welcome your insight into the matter. Until then, any urgent news should be relayed to me here, but the next time we meet will be in a fortnight. The council is now adjourned."

Most of the councillors left immediately. Probably, Gin suspected, to avoid being given the task of being next in line for civilian duty after Garak. A few loitered behind, though, to say a few additional words to their new Primarch. Amongst them was Kabor Unaran, the new Minister for Foreign Affairs & Diplomacy, and former member of the Obsidian Order. To Gin's surprise, he approached her once the room was a little emptier; quite a tall Cardassian, he towered over her easily. Though she had no idea how old he was, she judged him to be somewhere between Damar and Garak in age. After Makala, Damar was probably the youngest in the room – almost everybody else had a spattering of grey in their hair.

"Ambassador," he said, offering her a slight bow. Unusually, his eyes were very dark, almost as black as his hair, instead of the normal blue or brown. "As Minister for Foreign Affairs & Diplomacy, I'm looking forward to working closely with you in the future." In the background, Gin saw Rokann hovering, but she couldn't afford to focus on him right now. Not with the tall Cardassian man looming over her. "I was hoping we might meet at some point, before the next council session, to discuss the possibility of a Cardassian embassy on Earth. Establishing strong diplomatic ties with... your people... is something I'm very much interested in."

"Of course, Minister," she said, returning his bow. "I think it only fair that if the Federation has an Ambassador to Cardassia, then Cardassia should have an Ambassador to the Federation. We can arrange a meeting for any time you like, and I can make recommendations to the Federation Council."

"Perhaps," Amaro spoke up, and Gin noticed that only he, Damar, Rokann, Garak, Unaran and herself were left in the room, "since you are going to be working so closely with the Minister, Ambassador, you might make your reports to him in the future. It would save a lot of the Primarch's valuable time."

"That won't be necessary," said Damar. If he was at all irritated by the new Legate's presumptuousness, it didn't show. "For the moment, I would like the Ambassador to report to me directly. If that arrangement needs to be changed, I will make such changes at the appropriate time."

"If you'll excuse me then, Primarch," Unaran purred, "I have some tasks I need to attend to."

"Of course."

The tall man sidled silently out of the room, and then Amaro spoke up.

"Should we be going now, Primarch? My wife has been looking forward to receiving you all day. She's cooked a fine meal for tonight. My whole family are very much looking forward to meeting you."

"Yes, we should go. I wouldn't want to be late for the meal your wife has so thoughtfully prepared," Damar replied. He briefly turned to address the others. "Good evening. Garak, don't forget your responsibilities tomorrow."

And then, they were gone. Both Garak and Rokann stepped up beside Gin, both watching until neither Damar nor Amaro were in sight. Rokann was the first to talk.

"I don't trust that man," he said, his voice full of suspicion.

"Amaro, or Damar?" Garak asked.

"Unaran."

"Is there anybody you _do_ trust, Doctor?"

Rokann looked thoughtful for a moment. "I trust the Primarch. He's not clever enough to go sneaking around, like you."

"Pity," Garak said.

"You look worried," Gin pointed out, addressing the younger man.

"Of course I'm worried."

"Because Damar's gone for dinner at Amaro's house?"

"Because I don't have any daughters to throw at our new Primarch. Amaro has three of them. And I hear they're quite lovely. Nothing like their father."

"You think this is political plotting on Amaro's behalf?"

"I'm sure of it."

"Bah, politicians!" Rokann huffed, and then limped out from the room.

"So," Gin said, once the doctor was gone. "It sounds like you have a big day ahead of you tomorrow."

"Yes," he agreed. "And with any luck, I'll still be alive by the end of the night."

She gestured for him to walk with her so they could speak further.

"You don't believe the Primarch's speech will go down well?"

"Let's just say, I'd rather not be out on the streets when it's made," he said, giving her a strained smile. "Damar might have been able to rouse the Cardassians' anger, but then, we had an enemy. Now, we have none, and Damar hardly comes from a background in leadership and politics. He struggles with words longer than two syllables... most soldiers do."

"Maybe that's what Cardassia needs," she said with a shrug. "You've had your share of political leaders, who say pretty words, make vague assurances and then never deliver. Perhaps what the people need most of all now is somebody who won't try to blind them with words, but will instead speak to them plainly and honestly."

Garak stopped, and studied her face for a moment before speaking again.

"When did it happen?"

"When did what happen?" she replied, frowning at the cryptic tone of his words.

"When did you get swept up in the idea of a plain, simple soldier rising up to unite the people under a new rule of honesty, integrity and humility?"

"I have been 'swept up' by nothing, Garak. But I know what I saw, when we went to Tomakan city, and to Pallan. The people there didn't just admire him for being the hero of Cardassia. They didn't just stare with awe and deference at the man who had freed them from Dominion rule. They listened to him. He told them that he was going to help Cardassia be strong again, and they believed him. For the first time in a very long time, they have faith in something. Coming from a faithless people, that's quite an accomplishment." She continued walking, and he followed, his hands behind his back as he kept stride with her. "Don't you see what's happening? Look at your own council. Up until two days ago, it was a loose collection of men and women who wanted to promote their own agendas but had no actual power or authority. Now, you have structure. You have order. You have the beginnings of a hierarchy. If what Damar has to say is so difficult to accept, then why did _you_ accept it? Why are there ten other councillors in that room who accepted it? Why didn't anybody oppose him? Why didn't anybody say 'no'? You educated men and women, with your own ideas and dreams, let a plain, simple soldier walk in and tell you what to do. Had you laughed and turned your backs on him, denied his authority, he would have been able to do nothing about it. Instead, you accepted his words, obeyed his instructions, and now he's the Primarch. He walked in here with nothing at all, and your council, by accepting his orders, gave him the power to rule Cardassia."

It was hard to tell what he thought of her words, because he was very good at hiding his thoughts and feelings. But she got the distinct impression that she'd given him a lot to think about. When he next spoke, the topic was changed completely.

"I think Unaran likes you."

"Then I shall have to tread carefully there."

"That would be prudent."

They reached the front door of the building and stepped outside into the brightness and heat. Gin was starting to get used to it a little, now. Though she still got hot easily, she was able to tolerate it for longer as her body adapted. Of course, she'd still have to drink a litre of water when she got back to the embassy, to stop herself dehydrating. But it was a small price to pay.

"It has been, as always Ambassador, a delight talking to you," Garak said, giving her a smile that was a little more sincere than usual.

"Likewise... Minister," she said, with a small grin.

He left her there, and she made her way back to the embassy on her own. Passing the people in the streets, their faces blank, unfeeling, she wondered how much different their faces would be by this time tomorrow.


	10. Turmoil

Restoration

_10. Turmoil_

"Ambassador Fox, we've had chance to read over your most recent reports. I must say, this is a startling new development. To think, that Legate Damar has been alive all this time, his recovery kept hidden from even his own people." The familiar face of Senior Ambassador David Callaghan looked much smaller on Gin's communications panel than it did in person, but he still managed to project and air of authority… and disapproval.

"The council members did as they thought best," she rejoined. "If he'd died in the hospital, and people knew about it, it would have destroyed what little is left of the Cardassian people's fighting spirit. They'd already lost him once; they didn't deserve to lose him again."

"I suppose." Callaghan straightened in his chair. "At least the situation has worked out in our favour. This is an unexpected boon for Federation-Cardassian diplomatic relations. From the moment we heard about Damar's resistance, we hoped he'd be the one to come out on top of a new Cardassia. Starfleet Intelligence suggest that he's much more willing to work with outsiders than most of the other potential leaders who cropped up over the past few months. But of course, I don't have to tell you the importance of working with someone who's less insular than his fellows."

"No, Ambassador," she agreed.

"Nor do I have to tell you how much more precarious the situation there has become, despite this good news."

Gin nodded. "A co-operative leader is good for our own political agenda, but one who tries to bring too many changes, too quickly, risks burning the house down around him."

Callaghan smiled. "Glad to see you're keeping my lessons in mind. To be honest, Ambassador, the feeling around here is that you may have a potential political revolution on your hands. A lot of men and women who passed up the post are now regretting that decision. In fact, a few have put their names forward. Just in case you should tire of the role."

A sliver of pleasure worked its way up Gin's spine. She'd promised herself that she would make the people who'd doubted her abilities because of her youth and inexperience eat their own words. Granted, Damar's recovery wasn't of her doing, but the fact that those same detractors now wanted her job made her feel justifiably smug. Just a little.

"Don't get me wrong, you've got a long road ahead of you," Callaghan continued. "First stop on that road is the Summit at Deep Space Nine. The Cardassians need to be ready for it, and it's your job to see that they are. A lot is going to be asked of them, and they're not going to like it, but they have to start to learn that if they want any say in shaping Alpha Quadrant affairs, they're going to have to get on the team-player bandwagon."

"I understand, Ambassador Callaghan. And don't worry, they'll be ready for the Summit even if I have to spend every waking moment beating common sense into their heads."

He chuckled. "I wouldn't be surprised if you have to do exactly that. Good luck, Ambassador. I'll speak to you again in a few days."

The screen went blank and retracted into the desk, and Gin let out the breath she'd been partially holding. She'd been a little worried that her seniors in the Federation Diplomatic Corps would be angry with her for withholding information about Damar's survival, but they seemed to believe she'd only just discovered that fact herself. Small relief, compared to the mountain she now had to climb.

"The time is fourteen-hundred hours," the computer told her in a Cardassian monotone.

Quickly, Gin flipped up the screen that had just disappeared, and switched to the frequency for Lakat city. Today was the day of Damar's speech, and she knew she wouldn't be the only Federation citizen watching it. No doubt Starfleet Intelligence had turned their gaze, and all of their listening posts, to Cardassian space as soon as they realised Damar was alive. Just one more reason for her to get the Cardassians prepared for the Summit. One more reason to get this right.

o - o - o - o - o

For two weeks, Gin felt like an observer watching a play, a witness to events completely out of her control. Like the rest of the population of Lakat city, she watched Primarch Damar's speech. And, like them, she had no idea what to expect. Damar was a loose cannon, under nobody's control. The council couldn't take away the authority they had let him claim, even if they wanted to. From the moment they had let him dictate how they should work, they were under his control. From the moment he appeared on the public comm channel to address the people of the city, they were bound to him.

He'd started off by saying how proud he was of his peoples' actions on the night of the revolution. And indeed, he said, it was a revolution, not just a mere rebellion, for the actions of that night would have long-lasting consequences. Though he had nearly died in the attack on Dominion Headquarters, he had come back to them, returned to them, because he could hear their cries for help. He could feel their pain as his own, and he could not abandon them to a future of suffering and uncertainty.

He was going to do whatever it took to help rebuild Cardassia, he told them. He didn't promise to make them a power in the Alpha Quadrant. He didn't promise to make them masters. He didn't promise to make them feared once more. Perhaps he knew that they'd had enough of being fed lies, of being told that other races needed to fear them. Perhaps he knew that such words would have sounded empty, and that what starving, homeless people needed was not more words, words which would only affect those who had power, because although the Cardassian military and the Obsidian Order had been feared, nobody would fear a common citizen who could not even feed himself.

He spoke of reforms. At giving the people more of a say in how they lived their lives. He spoke of the future as a thing of hope and of change, something to make for themselves that they, and every Cardassian who had died at the hands of the Dominion, could be proud of. When he spoke of the past, he portrayed it as a time of doubt and oppression, of shadow-dreams controlled by shadow-men, minions of the Founders who imposed their will on the Cardassian people. But the Cardassian people had shown the Founders what they were made of. They would not cower, like the Vorta, or obey, like the mindless Jem'Hadar. They would stand strong, and they would stand together.

He didn't go into too much detail about the changes that would be made, but he promised they would soon be felt. No longer did the citizens of Cardassia need to fear having their voices heard. After everything they had been through, they deserved to have a voice. After their sacrifices, they deserved life and freedom. Anybody who tried to oppress their freedom to speak their minds was an enemy of Cardassia, and he would not allow any more enemies to undermine their once-great empire.

Though Gin spent the two weeks effectively cut off from the Cardassian United Council, and the Primarch himself, she did not spend them alone. Because Rokann was now splitting his time between his Ministerial duties at the headquarters and his medical duties at the hospital, he sent Telor to the embassy whilst he was dealing with council business, and several times the man and his son stayed for their evening meal. When he returned to the hospital, Telor went with him, to continue his studies, but Gin looked forward to the times when the boy returned to the embassy.

Telor proved to have a very quick mind. He was a fast learner, responsible, and very capable. He'd had to learn to look after himself and his father, he'd told her, after his mother died. Whenever he spoke of his mother, his eyes turned sad, but the sadness didn't last for long. Full of exuberance, he'd soon be smiling again. Though Gin had never needed a staff, Telor was so eager to please and to learn that he fell quite easily into the role of her assistant. He'd help her gather and collate information from the relief teams, put together reports for both the Federation and the council, and he seemed to know just when she needed a fresh coffee from the replicator.

Feeling somewhat responsible for him, she began to teach him about different alien worlds and cultures; at least, those she herself was familiar with. He learnt easily, only needing to hear or read something once before he had it memorised, and he seemed to enjoy learning about other species.

After two weeks had passed, and word had been spread of Damar's new government to the rest of Cardassia Prime, Gin returned to the council headquarters for her next meeting. The building was abuzz with activity, now, and change was coming swiftly to the leaders of Cardassia. Each Minister now had two Junior Ministers reporting to him—or her—who in turn were served by a small team of administrators. The wheels of power needed many cogs, it seemed, and Damar was the oil which kept it all running smoothly. Or at least, from breaking down completely.

In accordance with the Primarch's wishes, Gin had requested further information regarding the summit from the Federation Council, and had been sent an itinerary of events. The first day involved a welcoming banquet arranged by the host species, the Bajorans, followed by a short break, and then the proper summit would begin with talk of reparations. The second day of the summit would involve talk of maintaining a defensive fleet in the Alpha Quadrant, along with continued exploration of the Gamma Quadrant. The third day would close the summit, after an open forum of discussion in which concerns and ideas could be addressed, and individual trade or friendship treaties could be established by the various groups present.

The council, after hearing about the agenda, spent some time debating and bickering about who would be the best suited to attend. Everybody thought they had the best reason for going, and they weren't hesitant in explaining why. Amaro seemed to believe that the right to go would be afforded to whoever could shout the loudest, and he exclaimed at some volume that this was clearly a military matter, whilst the civilian members of the government either objected to or ignored him. The only two who didn't participate in the argument were Rokann and Damar. The old man seemed to have no desire to travel to the summit, and he busied himself with work on his datapad whilst his colleagues bickered. Damar, meanwhile, merely watched everybody argue, and when he finally tired of it, he lifted his hand for silence.

"I have decided," he said, once silence had descended, "that I will lead the delegation myself. Because this is a matter of foreign affairs, Minister Unaran will accompany me. And since it will no doubt concern matters of military and intelligence importance, Minister Amaro and Minister Garak will join us as advisors. Ambassador Fox, as an expert in Federation policy and diplomacy, you will come too. We'll take a Keldon-class warship, with a standard crew complement and ten personal guards. Everybody else will remain here and ensure smooth running of the council."

That was when Gin had realised that there had never been any question of who was going. Damar had decided long before the meeting had begun. He'd allowed them to argue, let them believe that they had some say in it, but ultimately had made the decision himself, and they were powerless to oppose him. Besides, he was right. There was no need for a Transport Minister or Agricultural Minister at a summit of galactic affairs.

At the end of the meeting, Damar called for another meeting in two weeks' time, and Garak offered to walk Gin back to the entrance of the headquarters. Along the way, they encountered a small group of Cardassians, one of whom watched the Primarch—who was walking ahead with Ministers Makala and Jaral—with such a look of hatred and anger, that it made Gin shiver.

"Who's that?" she whispered to Garak, indicating the glaring young man with a nod of her head.

"Ah," he said, looking uncomfortable. "Junior Minister Farik Rusot."

"Why's he glaring at Damar with such hatred? I've never seen anybody look at Damar with anything but adoration before."

"His older brother, Gul Rusot, was a friend of the Primarch. He helped Damar plan the first resistance attack on the Rondac-Three cloning facility."

"That doesn't explain the hatred."

"Unfortunately, Damar had to kill Gul Rusot. Farik has never forgiven him, and probably never will."

"He _had to_ kill Gul Rusot?"

"It's all a long, messy story," Garak said evasively. "Suffice it to say, Gul Rusot was unable to overcome his hatred of Bajorans. His actions were threatening the resistance, so Damar killed him."

"Does he regret killing him?" she asked. How casually these Cardassians could speak of murder, as if it was nothing more than a tiresome chore.

"I don't know. I never asked him. Do you think I should?"

She rolled her eyes at his flippant question. As they continued down the corridor, she cast a quick look back at Farik Rusot. The anger was still in control of his face, contorting it into a snarl that he couldn't hide, and it worried her. Cardassians prided themselves on being in control of their emotions – though not to the same extent, or in the same ways, as the Vulcans. To see such hatred on the face of a man worried her. And to see that hatred aimed at the leader of Cardassia, worried her even more.

o - o - o - o - o

"Will you do me a favour?" Telor asked two weeks later, as she was preparing reports for her meeting with the council.

"Of course. What is it?" she asked absently.

"When you go to the summit, will you take some pictures of the station for me? I know I can't go with you, but I'd like to see where you've been, and look at what you've seen."

"I promise I will," she smiled. "But that's a couple of weeks off, yet, and I've got a lot to do before then."

She was interrupted by the embassy comm unit, which bleeped to get her attention. Activating it, she waited for a face to appear on the screen, and was surprise by who she saw.

"Legate Amaro? I wasn't expecting to see you until the meeting. What can I do for you?"

"This is a... courtesy call," he said, still unable to keep the disapproving sneer completely from his face as he looked at her. "The Primarch has decided to take an impromptu vacation. He won't be returning to the capital today, therefore the council has decided to postpone the meeting until he returns."

"Have you any idea when that might be?"

"None."

"I see. Well, thank you for saving me the trip over there. I look forward to hearing about the Primarch's return."

The comm deactivated and the screen disappeared into the desk. She found Telor watching her worriedly, and put aside her own misgivings.

"What do you think that was about?" the boy asked.

"I don't know. But taking a vacation doesn't sound like something the Primarch would do."

"Maybe my father will know more."

But when Rokann returned that evening, it was from the hospital, where he'd been called away during the morning on urgent business. He had no more idea about where Damar was and why than Gin or Telor did. When asked for his thoughts on the matter, he merely answered dismissively that the Primarch was a rash young man, and rash young men were given to making impulsive decisions. If the Primarch wanted a vacation, he certainly deserved one, and Rokann could well understand him wanting to get away from 'those vultures on the council,' as he called them.

For two days, Gin waited for word of Damar's return. When she grew bored of waiting, she contacted Garak, who merely told her exactly the same thing; that Damar was taking a break, and would return when he was ready. Exactly when that would be, he did not know. Nobody seemed to know anything, and it was frustrating. The following morning, however, she finally got some answers.

Rokann returned, this time without Telor in tow, and led Gin into the embassy's sitting room, requesting a glass of fish juice for himself from the replicator. She had no idea where he'd been for the past two days, but it definitely wasn't the hospital. He looked hot, even by Cardassian standards, and his trousers bore patterns of red dust.

"I'm worried about the Primarch," he confided in her as they took seats.

"In what way?"

"He's not been sleeping properly. More than once over the past month I've had to administer a sedative to him, to knock him out. But Ambassador... Gin... Sedation is not true sleep. The body needs to sleep. The mind needs to dream. A lack of a healthy sleep cycle leads to a lowered immune system and chemical imbalance within the brain. I'm not an expert on Human physiology, but I know it's quite similar to our own. Sleep deprivation affects our species in much the same way. And, as well, he hasn't been eating regularly. I've offered him all sorts of foods, but he seems to have no appetite. He picks at things, but doesn't eat enough to maintain a healthy weight."

"Do you know where he is, Merak?" she asked, leaning forward to look into his eyes.

He nodded. "A village called Kobaal. He went there to speak to the villagers, to settle some dispute. But after he sorted the problem out, he didn't leave. By day he sits beside the shore of a small lake there, staring out over the water to the forest on the other side. It reminds me in some ways of the state he was in after we saved his life, following the revolution. But this time, he's not catatonic. He speaks... he tells us to go away. That he wants to be left alone. To get back to the city and make ourselves useful. But he never stops staring."

"How long have you known?"

"Since yesterday. Amaro hid his condition from the others, at first. And then Garak insisted on knowing where the Primarch was, so Amaro had to tell him, or risk being mobbed by the rest of the council. They decided against telling you. A 'Cardassian problem', they call this. None of the Federation's business."

"So you've gone against their wishes by coming to me?"

He nodded again.

"What do you want me to do? Have the Sarajevo beam him up and run a full medical on him?"

"No. I want you to go to Kobaal and talk to him."

"I fail to see what that will do. If he won't even speak to his own ministers, to his own personal physician, what makes you think he'll talk to me?"

"You roused him once before," Rokann insisted. "I don't know why he responded to you. But for some reason, he did. And I'm hoping that he'll respond again. Short of sedating him and taking him back to the capital by force, I have no other ideas, and I don't think the villagers would appreciate that. They don't bother him, but they watch him, constantly. They seem to think he's undergoing some sort of personal growth, that whilst he's sitting out there at their lake, he's devising new plans, envisaging a new Cardassia, and that once his dreams are complete, he'll tell them how to make it a reality. They're coming dangerously close to venerating what would otherwise be considered a mentally disturbed individual. Please, at least try. The summit is in less than two weeks. We need the Primarch if we are to come through it intact."

"Very well," she agreed. "I'll talk to him. But I make no promises about success."

"That you try is all I ask."

o - o - o - o - o

When Gin contacted the Sarajevo and asked for herself and Rokann to be transported to Kobaal, they were rematerialised in the centre of a small village, that was built staggered up a hillside. Water bubbled gently from the middle of a rock pool—a natural spring, she surmised—in the middle of an open courtyard, and something immediately struck her as odd. When at last she put her finger on the reason, she realised it was because this village had escaped the devastation that she had seen in every other settlement. The people here looked happier and healthier than those in the cities. Their clothes were not dirty and torn, their faces were not worn by months of doubt. The only thing missing were children; likely they'd been called inside at the arrival of the strangers, she guessed.

"Doctor Rokann?" a Cardassian man asked, approaching the newly arrived pair. Several other men and women were clustered behind him, watching with suspicion.

"This is Ambassador Fox, from the Federation. She's been working with the Primarch over the past few weeks. Don't mind us, Prenor, we've just come to speak with the Primarch."

"He still does not wish to be disturbed," the man, Prenor, advised.

"Does he interact with you much?" Gin asked him.

He gave her a suspicious glance before answering.

"He drinks the redleaf tea that we bring him, but he does not eat the food, and he rarely speaks, except as a whisper that is too faint for us to hear. I don't believe we are meant to hear what the Primarch says while he waits for answers. When he is ready to speak, he will speak for all to hear."

"He's late for his medical checkup," Rokann told the gathering crowd. "And the Ambassador has some reports to give. So we thought we'd kill two birds with one stone. Don't worry, we shan't intrude on your lives."

"Very well," Prenor said.

Limping, Rokann led Gin through the paved streets towards the edge of the village. When they were far enough away from Prenor, he spoke in a hushed whisper. "You see what I mean? They seem to think he's some sort of... of..."

"Prophet?" she asked.

"It's not right!" Rokann hissed. "Regardless of what he's done, Gin, he's still just a man. Those people back there think he's waiting for answers from someone or something. It's antithetical to all that we Cardassians believe! We have to put a stop to this nonsense. You have to make the Primarch see sense and return to the capital before those people start... deifying him! We need a leader, Ambassador. Not a god."

They fell to silence as they continued on the path out of the village. When it forked, Rokann took the lower road, and Gin truly became aware of her surroundings for the first time. This village had been built within the hills themselves, and it climbed up one such hill like a serpent draped across the land. In the distance were more hills, and nestled between them, an expanse of blue-green water.

It was a pitiful thing as far as lakes went. Nowhere near as grand or impressive as the great lochs of Scotland, guarded protectively by their craggy mountain shepherds. It didn't sparkle deep blue, a sapphire gem in a crown of emerald green, as the lochs did. But it was nice enough; too big to be called a pond, it shone a pleasant turquoise colour beneath the sun.

The path continued to descend, snaking through the edge of a blessedly cool forest before coming into the open once more. On the rocky shore, seated on a large grey boulder whose colour blended perfectly with his skin, the Primarch of Cardassia sat looking out over the lake. He was so still that she thought, for a moment, this was some trick, that somebody had carved a stone-Damar and sat him here to cruelly fool everyone. Perhaps even Damar himself had done it, to make the council believe he was here, when in reality he was elsewhere.

Then she saw him move, and the breeze tugged gently at his shirt and his hair, and she knew this was no trick. Rokann approached him, stopping a few paces behind.

"Primarch," he said. "I've brought the Ambassador to see you. I'm sure you'll find it less easy to bully her into leaving, than it was those vultures on the council." Then he patted her arm, and set off at a limp back to the village.

She studied the Primarch's back for a moment. He did not acknowledge her in any way, but she knew he was aware of her presence. He couldn't fail to hear what Rokann had said. But if he wanted to ignore her, then that was fine. She walked past him and made her way to the shore line proper, then stopped and cast her eyes around on the ground for a flat stone. When she found one she palmed it, then threw it at an angle with as much force as she could, so that it skipped along the water, bouncing five times before it sank. The next stone wasn't as heavy, and sank after four skips, but the next one reached six. Then she found a small, round pebble, and bounced it on the palm of her hand as she turned back to the Primarch.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, watching the pebble rise and fall, "we're a little like stones. We skip along for a while, before losing energy and sinking. Some make only one or two skips before they lose momentum. Some really good stones can go for eight or nine bounces, depending how how much effort you put into the throw. The question is; how far will you go?"

"Save me your insipid Federation allegories," he said, his eyes still fixed on the far shore of the small lake. "I came here to get away from people like you. Not to be nagged every five minutes about duty and leadership and responsibility."

"Fine," she said, and snatched the stone from the air, now rolling it around the palm of her hand. "Let's not talk about those things, then. Let's talk about something else."

"You want to talk about something else? Do you know what's up there?" His head turned and his eyes went to over a dozen shallow, oblong cairns on the side of a nearby hill. She knew, and she suddenly realised what had triggered the latest out-of-character behaviour in Damar.

"Bodies," she said.

"Bodies of _children_," he amended. "You probably came here and thought 'what a nice village. So free of the destruction that's plagued the rest of Cardassia.' That's what I thought. Finally, somewhere that escaped the carnage. Somewhere that escaped the destruction, the orbital bombardment. A last piece of paradise on this wasteland of a planet. And do you know _why_ it escaped the bombardment, Ambassador?" His voice was dangerously low. Unable to answer, she shook her head. "Because there were Jem'Hadar stationed here. And when the order was given by the Founder to eradicate my people, it wasn't night-time here, as it was in the capital. It was the middle of the day, and the children were playing in the courtyard. It was they the Jem'Hadar targetted first. They slaughtered children. Innocent, defenceless children. What sort of mindless beast does that? Actions that would sicken Klingons. Even Romulans would not engage in wholesale slaughter of the young. But the Dominion? The Jem'Hadar? They place no value on life. Only on order. Obedience. I wish that Federation-made virus had killed them all."

His face was a contorted mask of pain and anger that she couldn't bear to look at. Turning away, she let the pebble in her hand drop to the floor, all hope of convincing Damar to return to the capital lost.

"What's wrong? Does what I'm saying worry you? Scare you? Offend your delicate Federation ideals? Of course it does. You've never hated anything in your entire, privileged life. You come here with your all-mighty morals and compassion, full of pious forgiveness, but you don't know how my people have suffered. You can't know what it means to lose all that you love. And you will look at me when I'm talking to you, Ambassador. You came here to witness what was happening to Cardassia? Well you can witness it all. The pain, the loss, the anger."

She turned to face him, her heart feeling tight in her chest. She should never have allowed Rokann to talk her into coming here. Her presence had pushed him from melancholy to anger, and his wrath was as great as that of the river freed from the restraints of its dam outside Tomakan. Apparently, he didn't like what he saw in her face when she turned because he stood, and the intensity of anger in his glare only grew.

"Don't give me that look. Don't look at me like you're some wounded animal. You're not a victim, here." The gestured at the graves on the hillside. "_They_ are the victims. My _people_ are the victims. Each and every one of them. Innocents, all."

At his statement, her own anger quickly bubbled and then snapped like a cold piece of elastic pulled too far. She placed her hands on her hips, a gesture inherited from her mother, and glared right back at him.

"And what about all the innocents your people killed aboard our starships?" she asked hotly. "Many of our starships carried families aboard them. Husbands and wives and children. How many were ambushed by your forces before they could evacuate their civilians? How many children died caught up in a war they knew nothing about? Your people may be innocent, but your leaders were not. You, Gul Dukat, the other collaborators... you invited the Dominion into bed with you, and now the innocent people are paying the price. Yes, what happened here, what happens still, is a terrible tragedy. One that could have been avoided had your leaders not been power-hungry war-mongering sycophants!"

She took a few step towards him, letting her anger grow cold and simmer now that the initial flash was over. She stopped just out of his reach.

"I'm going to tell you what none of your own people will, because they're so afraid of offending the 'hero of Cardassia.' You deserve to be punished for what you did. You, Amaro, Parnon, and any other Cardassian in a position of authority who accepted and aided the Dominion in the conquest of the Alpha Quadrant. I'm sorry about your wife and son, I truly am. If there was any justice in this world, you would have died and they would live. But justice does not exist. It's a lie we tell ourselves, to make ourselves feel better about the harshness of reality. Sometimes there can be no justice, and you have to live with the pain forever. That is your punishment."

"I don't even know where they're buried," he said, the anger disappearing from his face. "Or if they're buried at all. Their bodies... I don't know what the Dominion did with them."

"Have you... tried to find them?" she asked hesitantly. Death was a _very_ uncomfortable subject for her. She wished Rokann was here now.

He shook his head. "All the bodies that could be found were buried soon after the devastation. Eight-hundred million graves. To uncover every one, subject its occupants to DNA testing... even if I had the heart to do it, I wouldn't put the families of the deceased through that. It wouldn't be fair. Not even to give myself peace of mind."

"I don't want to lessen your pain, because your pain shows how much you loved your family. And I don't want to make this about me, but I know what it's like to lose somebody you love and not be able to say goodbye to them. It's a pain that stays with you forever. And it haunts you. I'm not going to lie, or offer you platitudes and say that everything will be okay, that you'll feel better in time. I don't know if you will. But for now, your people need you. They need you to be strong. They've suffered too much, at the hands of people who haven't cared about them. Now, they're in need of a good man to lead them."

"Then they should look elsewhere. I'm not a good man. I've killed a lot of people. Even innocent people." He lifted up his hands, showing her his palms. "If you could see how red my hands are, you would not be here now. I can see the blood every time I look at them."

"That was in the past. It's not who you are now."

"Isn't it?"

He took a step forward and grasped her throat with his right hand, his fingers exerting a tight grip. There was anger in his blue eyes, though it was cold now, and calculating.

"I could kill you right now," he said. "Crush your windpipe. Snap your frail neck. You'd just be one more victim."

She could have stopped him. One didn't achieve a third-dan black belt in krav maga without learning how to break a strangle. But she sensed this wasn't the time for self-defence. It might have led to further violence. Besides, she didn't feel that her life was in danger. He was trying to scare her. To prove a point. To prove something to himself.

"Then why don't you?" she whispered, unable to speak at full volume because of the strong grip around her throat. "What do you have to lose? What's stopping you from killing me? From getting my blood on your hands too?"

He let go of her throat, and stepped backwards. She had to resist the urge to feel around her neck, where his hand had been squeezing her skin.

"The Federation would stop sending aid to my people," he replied.

"If you believe that's why you haven't killed me, you're a liar and a fool," she said. "You didn't kill me because you can't. You yourself won't allow it. That feeling, inside you? That hollow feeling, that emptiness and pain that burns and freezes and makes you feel sick all the time? That's guilt. Guilt which proves you have a conscience. Your people have been telling yourselves for decades that you have no conscience. How can you feel guilty about what you do, when it is your right to do as you chose and you are the superior race? And now... now you suddenly find yourself _sympathising_ with others. Putting yourself in their place. You know what it's like to lose everything that you have. You know what it's like to make a mistake and be held responsible for that mistake – not by your twisted justice system, but by your own conscience. You will punish yourself more than any jury ever could, for every person you have killed. But your conscience will keep you from adding to the death toll. Prove me wrong, if you like. Prove _yourself_ wrong." She lifted her hands to show they were empty and took a step forwards. "We're alone here. You have the advantage of height and weight and age. You're an experienced military officer, I am a mere civilian. Nobody would ever know if you decided to get rid of me. I'm sure some part of you wants to do it. Some part of you wants to kill me, because you recognise in me qualities which you fear in yourself. You know what I represent... what kind of people I represent. You could deny all of that. Deny that you want to be a better man. Kill me, and prove yourself to be a loyal, ruthless Cardassian."

For a moment she thought that he might actually try it, but at last he turned away from her and took a few paces along the shore, turning his gaze once more to the opposite bank of the lake.

"This... conscience," he said at last. "It's not an easy thing to live with. How is it that your people aren't tearing themselves up inside?"

"Most of us do, sometimes," she admitted. "But learning to listen to a conscience helps guide actions and motives. Feeling bad... it's a necessary part of life. Humans accept that. We accept it as a terrible weakness which may actually be our greatest strength. Your conscience... it makes you doubt yourself. It makes you doubt your decisions. It's a special... duality... that is very Human. The Vulcans don't understand it. The Klingons are amused by it. The Romulans can't even conceive it. But perhaps it's something that we have in common with Cardassians. Perhaps this ability to feel doubt and guilt and inner-conflict is something our people share."

"Perhaps." He gave her a side-glance. "This conscience thing seems like a heavy burden. What if it destroys my people? What if the guilt and self-loathing and anger is too much for them to bear?"

"I think you underestimate the strength of your people," she said, giving him a small smile. "You could always just point out that the Humans are doing a better job at living with conscience... that should certainly get them motivated. Who wants to be out-done by a mere Human?"

"I'm starting to learn, Ambassador, that there's nothing 'mere' about your people." He glanced at her neck. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"I think you'll learn, too, that Humans aren't as frail as you think them."

"Something else you can teach me," he said, a flash of humour flickering briefly in his eyes. "Now. You will return to the embassy."

"And you—"

"Will return to the village. These people have suffered a lot. I should spend one more night with them before disappearing. Besides, if they know you're down here, and I transport back with you, they'll likely suspect you of kidnapping me. Apparently, I can't take care of myself, these days."

"I wonder why people think that," she said with a sardonic smile.

"I'll return to the capital tomorrow morning, with Minister Rokann. Until then, I'd prefer it if you didn't mention any of this to the council. They're an annoyance, at times. I rather like keeping them in the dark about my plans."

"As you wish, Primarch," she said, giving him a bow of her head. Then she tapped the comm badge she'd attached to her shirt. "Sarajevo... one to beam up."


	11. Family Affairs

Restoration

_11. Family Affairs_

"How does this look?"

Gin stepped into the dining room, and looked at the table to which Telor was gesturing. He'd set it for seven places – one each at the foot and the head, three on the right hand side, and two on the left hand side. Next to each empty plate, a clean crystal glass had been set containing a red and gold napkin, and shining silver knives and forks had been laid out with immaculate precision. To one side of the room, various bottles of alcohol—real alcohol, not the replicated stuff—had been put on ice or left to warm, as each was required. The lighting had been dimmed to a level more suitable for Cardassians, and the temperature had been increased by seven degrees.

"Perfect, Telor," she smiled. "Are you sure you've never done this before?"

"I wish I had. Do I look okay?"

"You look fine," she said. "Really. Would I lie to you?"

"I guess not," he grinned. The boy was wearing his finest clothes, and seemed more than a little nervous. With only a week left until the summit on Deep Space Nine, Gin had invited the members of the delegation to the embassy, so that they might discuss the trip, and what might be involved, over a meal. The majority of it was being replicated and kept warm, and Rokann had kindly allowed Telor to help her prepare. Which was just as well, because she had invited both of them to the meal too. Although not members of the delegation, she considered both of them friends, and knew that they too had grown remarkably fond of her in such a short time.

"What about me? How do I look?"

She watched as he examined her carefully, and could see him looking for the most... diplomatic response. Heeding Garak's warning that Unaran might have some physical interest in her, she'd chosen to dress down, to discourage any sort of inappropriate behaviour. She was wearing a pair of figure-hugging black trousers and black calf-high boots, and had teamed it with a dark green and gold shirt which had a modest neck-line and long sleeves. She'd also pulled her brown hair back into a very boring, very plain, ponytail.

"You look... very official," he said at last.

"Thank you. That's what I was going for."

"How long do you think this council meeting will go on for?" he asked, glancing to the window and looking at the dark sky.

"I'm not sure. Damar seems to hate long meetings, but when the council want to talk, they really talk. I think we should make a start on the food. We can keep it warm on hot plates." She caught a glimpse of his expression, and raised one eyebrow. "And just what are you grinning at?"

"Nothing," he said innocently, and smothered the grin. "What should we make?"

"Mostly Cardassian food, I think. Though I'll add a couple of Earth dishes, and maybe some Bajoran food, for those who want to experiment a little." She glanced at the bottles on the side. "It's just a shame I couldn't get any kanar."

"Well, since the distilleries were bombarded from orbit, I think it will be a while before anybody is making any more kanar. My father says it's not high on the list of priorities right now. It's not exportable, and most of the population wouldn't be able to afford it even if it was available."

"He's right. Still, it would have been nice."

"My friend, Kaskar, said he would share a bottle of his father's kanar with me, after the rebellion," Telor admitted. He picked at a stray fibre on his dark blue shirt, then looked up and gave her a brave smile. "I hope that wherever Kaskar is now, he's got plenty of kanar to keep him company."

"I'm sure he has, Telor," she said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and giving him a gentle squeeze. "Now. I need your advice on the best Cardassian dishes to prepare. What do you suggest?"

For the next forty-five minutes, both of them were kept busy with browsing the menus for different dishes which would be suitable to serve to the council members. Telor picked zabu stew, tojal with yamok sauce, hard-boiled regova eggs nestled between zabu steaks fried in rulot oil, and rokassa juice, from the Cardassian menu. From the Bajoran menu, Gin ordered larish pie and ratamba stew and mapa bread, and from the Earth dishes she'd programmed she chose spinach and ricotta canelloni and, just for the potential amusement factor, chicken madras – a hot type of curry that needed to be consumed with plenty of cold water.

Not longer after the dishes had been set onto hot-plates, the embassy door opened, and Damar strolled in followed by the four Ministers. Amaro, of course, was right behind him, followed close by Garak, and then by Unaran, and finally Rokann. The Legate was dressed, as usual, in his military uniform. Sometimes Gin wondered if he ever took it off. The other four men were wearing their own civilian clothing.

Amaro, possibly believing that Human hearing was not particularly good—or perhaps simply not caring whether or not he was overheard—stepped closer to Damar and said in a quiet voice, "Primarch, do you really think we have time for this… dinner?"

"Nonsense," the younger man replied. "The Ambassador has gone to all of this trouble to accommodate us and give us chance to discuss the summit before it actually happens, and I think the least we can do is be here to listen. And do try to enjoy yourself, Legate."

"On the ship, on the way to the summit, would have been 'chance to discuss the summit,'" Amaro grumbled, but he said nothing else as Gin stepped forward to greet her guests, with Telor a pace behind her.

"Primarch," she said, offering Damar a brief bow, and a smile to match it. "Welcome once again to the embassy. And Ministers, of course," she said, glancing at the rest of the councillors. "I hope you're all hungry."

"We're men," Rokann said, stepping forward and taking both her hands in greeting. "We're always hungry. And if my nose is right, that's ratamba stew I can smell. I think you, Ambassador, for remembering my fondness for Bajoran cuisine."

"Indeed, Ambassador," said Unaran, stepping forward to replace Rokann and offering her a single hand, as per usual Human customs. She took in and shook it, and almost shivered under the intensity of his predatory gaze. "I'm sure tonight will prove to be pleasurable and interesting."

"I trust I won't have to check my food for poison?" Garak asked with a smile. "Only joking, Ambassador. A little Obsidian Order humour."

"If I'd known this was going to be a family affair," Amaro said, looking at Telor, "I would have asked Korala to join us. I believe my youngest daughter is quite taken with you, Primarch."

Garak rolled his eyes, but Damar answered before Gin could speak up in defence of Telor.

"I'd prefer to keep council meetings purely business, Minister," he said. "I find that trying to mix the two sours both."

Gin tried to ignore the way Unaran was looking at her; she was sure he wanted her to notice and read into it. Instead, she turned to Telor.

"Would you please show our guests to their seats?" she asked him.

"Of course, Ambassador," he replied, all professional now that the men were present. He turned to the guests. "Please, follow me."

He was followed by Damar, Amaro and Unaran, but Garak lingered behind for a moment, and stopped Rokann from following too.

"I don't suppose you have any daughters sequestered away, that you haven't told us about, have you doctor?" he asked.

Rokann snorted and rolled his eyes, then followed after the others. "You're _still_ worried about that?" Gin asked Garak.

"My sources indicate that Damar and Korala have twice now spent time enjoying each others' company in various remote locations," he replied. "I'm told that one time, they went walking for three hours."

"You're having the Primarch of Cardassia _followed_?"

"But of course," he said, looking surprised by her question. "I _am_ the Minister for Intelligence & Internal Security, after all. It's my job to know what the Primarch is doing every second of every day."

"That's creepy. Very, very creepy. And besides, there's no harm in walking."

"You are a woman, I believe," he said.

"Of course."

"And surely you have known men?"

"Yes. And?"

"Then you must be aware of the sorts of things men and women do together?"

"You mean... walking?" she asked, feigning a shocked expression.

"You mock me now, but there's nothing like a beautiful woman to vex and confuddle a man's mind. Mark my words; this isn't going to end well for us."

"Always with the melodrama," she said, rolling her eyes and leading him into the dining room. At the table, everybody else was seated—Damar at the head of the table, with Rokann to his immediate right, followed by Unaran and then Telor, and Amaro to his immediate left, with the second seat on the left for Garak—and she gestured for the last Cardassian to take his seat as she went to where the drinks were waiting.

"I'm afraid I've been unable to find kanar anywhere," she apologised, "so I'm afraid you'll have to settle for either an Earth malt-whisky, Vulcan brandy, or Romulan ale."

"Replicated Romulan ale never tastes quite the same," Amaro said cattily.

She gave him a smile. "I never replicate alcohol, Minister. Otherwise I would simply have replicated kanar. This is real... a 2260 vintage, in fact."

"And just where did you get Romulan ale from?" he demanded.

"A Romulan senator owed me a favour," she shrugged.

"Isn't Romulan ale illegal in the Federation?"

"Then it's a good job we're on Cardassia, isn't it?"

"In a Federation embassy. Which, I've been reminded more than once, is technically Federation territory under Federation law."

"Really?" she asked, feigning innocence. "Oh dear, you're right! How terribly wicked of me to consider serving this vintage Romulan ale which I acquired with great difficulty. I suppose I'll just put it back and forget all—"

"Perhaps," Unaran spoke up before she could take the bottle away, "the Primarch might consider offering you a pardon for your very minor transgression." Damar shrugged and waved his hand dismissively. Apparently that counted for a pardon, because Unaran smiled and held up his glass. "I would very much appreciate a glass of the ale you acquired with great difficulty. And you have my great thanks for it."

She poured him a generous measure of the potent blue alcohol, then turned to Damar. "Primarch?" she offered. When he shook his head, she turned back to Amaro. She could still remember Damar's words, that she and the Legate needed to 'get along,' but serving him rankled her. "Legate?" she offered.

"Thank you," he said gruffly, and held up his glass.

"Doctor? Garak?" she asked.

"Thank you, but I'll have some of that malt whisky, if you don't mind," Garak said. "I was introduced to it by a friend on Deep Space Nine, and I've developed quite a liking for it."

"I'll try your whisky as well, Ambassador," said Rokann.

"I'll have some of the Romulan ale," Telor offered.

"No you won't!" both Gin and Rokann replied together. "You can have some of the brandy, though," she relented. "It's got a very pleasant taste, but it's the weakest of the drinks." She saw Rokann give a small nod, and put down the bottle of ale, picking up the single malt and opening it. She'd iced it well, and the bottle was cold to her hands.

"If you don't mind me asking," Garak said, "where did you get the whisky from? Human beverages are far from common in this sector."

"Captain Benson owed me a favour," she replied. Captain Benson was the commander of the _Chastity_, Earth's newest sovereign-class ship which had just replaced the older excelsior-class Sarejevo for defence duty around Cardassia Prime.

"And the Vulcan brandy? I suppose a random Vulcan owed you a favour?"

"No, I bought that from a passing trader."

After serving both Rokann and Garak the malt whisky, she served Damar, Telor and then herself a glass of the brandy each. Though she preferred whisky to brandy, she didn't want Telor to feel left out, and she winked at him as she raised her glass.

"I'd like to propose a toast to the summit, and to Cardassia's success."

Everybody echoed her toast, and then took a sip of their drinks. Telor took a rather large mouthful of the brandy and then ended up coughing as it quickly warmed and stung his throat on the way down.

"Please, help yourselves to whatever you like," Gin said, gesturing at the table. Rokann immediately reached for the ratamba stew, whilst Telor wrinkled his nose at the smell.

"Tell me, Ambassador," Damar said, "what do you expect will be asked of Cardassia during these negotiations? Specifically, in terms of reparations."

"I don't know for sure," she said, placing some of the cannelloni on her own plate, "but one of my contacts on the council has told me that you won't be asked for as much as the Breen. I think the prevailing view is that the Cardassian people have paid the price for the decision of their leaders... the sympathy that's felt for them on Earth is actually fortuitous, because it means you'll be asked for less. That's not to say that you won't be asked for something valuable," she added quickly. "You might have to make territorial concessions."

"Completely out of the question," Amaro said immediately. "We already had to make 'territorial concessions' when the Dominion gave away some of our systems to the Breen." He pointedly _didn't_ say 'When Damar signed the treaty handing over our territory to the Breen.' "We can't afford to lose anymore."

"Perhaps it depends on what is asked for," Garak said. "Clearly, if they expect us to make territorial concessions within our home system, the answer must be no. But even we don't make use of all the outlying uninhabited systems that we've claimed as ours. If the Federation Alliance can be mollified with some out-of-the-way system, why not give it up and be glad they don't ask for more?"

"I agree that giving up territory will be seen as weakness," Unaran said thoughtfully, "but perhaps for the time being, it would be beneficial to be seen as... weak. Defeated. Though I am certain there will be lasting peace between the Klingons and the Federation, the same cannot be said for the Federation and the Romulans, or the Romulans and the Klingons. They are a mistrustful people, Romulans. They may betray the Federation, or perhaps the Klingons will decide they've had enough with Romulan cowardice and invade. At any rate, this Federation Alliance is a temporary thing. Sooner or later, the eyes of the Federation and the Klingons will turn away from Cardassia and towards the Romulan Star Empire, and they'll turn all the faster if they believe us cowed into submission."

"And what then?" Garak asked. "Wage another pointless war and begin the cycle of violence anew?"

"Of course not. But taking back that which is rightfully ours, that which we were forced to concede, is not truly war."

"Spoken like a true diplomat," Garak smiled, though his eyes showed no humour.

"I don't like it. Plotting and scheming like some Romulan," Amaro growled. "We won't have to take back what we don't give away. I say we make a stand. Say no to territorial concessions. Show the rest of the Alpha Quadrant that we won't be pushed around by the Federation and its so-called allies, and leave the scheming for the Romulans. Don't you agree, Primarch? Primarch?"

Damar was staring into nothingness, his gaze turned inward as he rubbed his temple. He'd been suspiciously quiet since he'd arrived at the embassy. Not that that was unusual; he wasn't the most verbose of Cardassians, except when he was making his speeches. He seemed to prefer action to words. But still, he wasn't usually _this_ quiet.

"His head troubles him again," Amaro said to Rokann. "Give him another pain-killer."

"I don't need another pain-killer, Minister," Damar said, mentally returning to the room. "And I'll thank you for not talking about me as if I'm not sitting right here."

Rokann was already hovering around the Primarch with a medical scanner in his hand, ignoring Damar's attempt to wave him away.

"Hmm," the doctor said thoughtfully. "How long has your head been paining you this time?"

"Since this morning."

"This morning?! I told you to tell me if it lasted longer than an hour!"

"I've been busy," Damar replied, and almost sounded to Gin as if he was sulking, like a chastised child.

"That's no excuse. If I've told you once I've told you a thousand times, until I know what's causing these bouts of neuralgia, we need to carefully monitor and manage—"

"And manage the pain so that it doesn't get worse and cause potentially unseen side-effects," the younger man finished. "I know. But like I said, I've been busy."

"And you're lucky I keep a pain-killer on me all the time these days." He drew a hypo-spray from his belt and held it against the Primarch's arm, injecting the pain-killing contents into his blood stream. Then he returned to his seat, and his stew.

"I don't like thought of you going to this summit without Minister Rokann, Primarch," Unaran said. "It's a two day journey there and back, and then three days for the summit itself. What if your head starts to trouble you in the middle of the summit? How can you best represent our people if you're constantly battling pain?"

"I agree, Primarch," Amaro said with a nod of his head. "Unaran is right. There may be doctors on Deep Space Nine, but what do they really know about Cardassian physiology?"

"Quite a lot," Garak chirped, but Amaro ignored him.

"Even our own doctors don't know why you get this terrible pain, but at least Rokann is able to keep it under control for you. He must come with us to the summit, in case you are taken ill. I insist."

"Bah!" Rokann huffed. "I'm not going to any summit. I have far too much to do here on Cardassia. Maybe _you_ are short of work, Amaro, because the Cardassian military lies in tattered ruins," Amaro glared at him for this comment, but Rokann ploughed right on, "but there are still many functional hospitals here on Cardassia, and millions of people who are injured, ill and suffering. I'm far too busy to play nurse to a man with a headache." He stopped his rant to glance at Damar. "However... it might be wise to send someone who is able to assist the Primarch if the pain returns. My son, Telor, has been helping me manage the Primarch's condition. He can go to the summit in my stead."

There was no mistaking Telor's delight. A huge grin appeared on his face, and he sat bolt upright in his seat. Not everybody was convinced, however.

"You would send a boy to do a man's work, Rokann?" Amaro laughed, and Telor glowered at him. Clearly, for a young man on the verge of adulthood, being told that he was still a child was a grave insult.

"My son knows more about medicine than you ever will, Minister," Rokann replied calmly, using Amaro's least favourite of his titles. "He's been helping me tend the Primarch since he first recovered from his injuries. Indeed, he was the one who saved the Primarch's life in the first place, when so many of your 'men' failed."

"I think it's a fine idea," Damar said. Everybody except Rokann looked at Damar in surprise – Gin included. She hadn't thought that he'd given Telor much notice before. "Telor can come along under the guise of being my personal assistant. That way, nobody on Deep Space Nine will question why we've brought such a young man with us. And Rokann can stay here and harass his _other_ patients into compliance. It will give me a break from his incessant mothering."

"Good," Rokann said. "Then it's settled. Telor, you will have to be on your best behaviour."

"Of course, father," Telor replied solemnly. "I won't let you down."

Before anybody else could speak, the communications band on Amaro's arm chirped and began to flash with a green light, and he stood and gave them all an apologetic glance.

"Please excuse me. I did ask that I not be contacted for anything other than urgent business. It seems somebody at the council is in need of me. I will be back momentarily."

"How is your head now, Primarch?" Unaran asked, as Amaro left the room to take his call in private.

"Much better," Damar said. And indeed, the tightness had gone from his eyes.

"You've hardly touched your food, Primarch," Rokann said, looking at Damar's mostly full plate of tojal and yamok sauce.

"Or your drink," Garak pointed out with a smile. "How very unlike you."

Damar was saved from answering by the return of Amaro. The Legate did not look pleased.

"There is a ship in orbit, commanded by one Captain Adrian Fox. He's insisting on speaking to the Ambassador immediately."

At the mention of the name, Gin's hand tightened around the handle of her fork, though she barely even felt it cutting into her palm. Adrian. Here. It couldn't be. Why had he come? Why now, when she had finally started finding some happiness in her life, why had he sought her out? What new misery was he looking to inflict on her?

Aware that she was scowling, she forced the muscles in her face to smooth, and unclenched the hand that gripped her fork as if she wanted to use it as a weapon. "I have nothing to say to that man," she said, her voice low and expressionless. "And if he knows what's good for him, he'll leave Cardassian space and never return."

"Would you like to tell him that yourself?"

"I'd be grateful if you could pass the message on, Legate," she said. "It would be most impolite of me to leave our meal to handle unimportant personal calls."

Amaro left the room again, and an uncomfortable silence descended. Telor look confused, which wasn't surprising. The mood had gone from almost jovial to dark in a matter of seconds. The adults busied themselves with the contents of their plates until Amaro returned.

"He's gone," he said, and took his seat.

Gin almost heaved a sigh of relief, but stopped herself from doing so. Good. Adrian was gone. With any luck he'd gotten the message and would leave her alone from now on. She'd made it perfectly clear, even before she'd left Earth, that she never wanted to see him again.

"Your brother, I take it?" Garak asked, obviously hoping to put her at ease.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said flatly.

"Going back to the discussion about the summit," Damar said, taking control of the conversation, "what potential trading opportunities do think think we'll be able to find there?"

Taking a deep breath, Gin tried to push away thoughts of Adrian and centre herself, to concentrate on what was important. Work was important. Cardassia was important. Adrian was not. And yet she couldn't shake the niggling feeling that she hadn't heard the last from him.

o - o - o - o - o

The next day, Gin was invited to a meeting in the council headquarters. With only four days to go until the delegates had to leave for the summit, Damar was busy issuing orders for how he wanted things run whilst he was away. To hear him speak, it was as if he thought he'd be gone for an entire year, rather than seven days. It made Gin smile. He clearly trusted the councillors enough to carry out his wishes, but not to have wishes of their own.

"And one final thing," he said, as the meeting came to its conclusion. "In a few minutes, the Ronak will be making a flight overhead, on its way to landing at the new dock constructed in the former central city residence area. I've asked its captain to land it so that our engineers can give it a full check before we go to Deep Space Nine, and so that we can tour its interior and assign quarters to the delegation. We'll step outside to observe its flight, and then any who wish to join me on the tour may do so."

"This is all very exciting, isn't it?" Garak whispered to her as the entire council followed Damar from the room.

"I suppose it is," she said agreeably. Now that Telor was coming with them, she had picked up some of his infectious enthusiasm. Neither of them had been to Deep Space Nine before – the only members of their delegation who hadn't. Garak had lived there for years, Damar and Amaro had both been stationed there, and Unaran had passed through it several times. It was as much a cultural hub as it was a military installation, and she was looking forward to seeing what sort of culture was on offer.

Outside, the temperature was as hot as ever, and the council members made it out just in time to see a huge, gold-coloured Cardassian vessel descend through the upper atmosphere, and pass low over the building. Its engines thrummed noisily, and the wind generated by its passing caused the clothes of the observers to whip wildly through the air. Gin held her hair down before it could fly in her eyes.

"Impressive, isn't it, Primarch?" Amaro asked, shielding his eyes from the sun so he could getter better view of the descending ship.

"Indeed," Damar replied, though there wasn't as much enthusiasm in his voice. Perhaps he was remembering how many of them had been destroyed by the Dominion, during the rebellion. "If we set off now, the ship should be ready and waiting for us by the time we get there," he said.

"Virginia!"

A painfully familiar voice called out her name, and as the crowd of Cardassian councillors parted, she saw Adrian approaching the compound gates. He looked just as she remembered him; his blond hair was immaculately coiffed, his flamboyant clothes bright and colourful, like the feathers of some exotic parrot. His black leather boots were polished until they shone, without a speck of dirt on them. He was like a bright jewel amongst a sea of stone-grey faces and muted dark colours. And at that moment, Gin dearly wished she'd brought her phaser with her.

He hurried forwards, tall and broad-shouldered, an eager light in his eyes when he saw her. But the moment he got within ten paces of the Ministers, two armed guards stepped forward and blocked his path.

"Virginia!" he called, peering over their shoulders. "Can we talk?"

"Didn't you get my message last night?" she called back, aware that the councillors were watching with interest. Clearly this was a form of entertainment to them.

"That you would speak to me today? Yes, that's why I came."

"That was _not_ the message I asked to be passed on," she said, turning her head to scowl at Amaro.

He shrugged. "It seemed the fastest way to get him off the comm channel."

"It's very important, Virginia," he said, ignoring the Cardassians. Gin bristled at his use of her proper name. He'd never gotten into the habit of calling her 'Gin'.

"You have ten seconds to explain what you're doing here and then get out of my sight," she said. "After that, I'll kill you."

Some of the Cardassians looked intrigued by her threat, others shocked. Adrian seemed not to have heard it; or perhaps he simply didn't believe it. At a gesture from Damar, the guards stepped aside and let him past, and he walked towards her, stopping a couple of paces in front of her.

"It's very simple," he said. "I've realised I made a mistake and I want you back. So I've come to take you home to Earth, so that we can start again. I'm sure if we put aside our differences, and both work at correcting the mistakes we made—"

"Your ten seconds is up," she said, red hot anger running through her body. The sheer arrogance of the man, the self-righteous selfishness and ignorance made her want to choke the life from him with her bare hands. She turned to one of Damar's guards, and held out her hand. "May I borrow your weapon?"

"Ambassador," Damar said, using his hand to lower her arm to her side. "Need I remind you of the punishment for murder on Cardassia?" He glanced at Adrian. "If you're planning on killing this man, I insist you return to the embassy and do it on Federation soil. I'd rather avoid a diplomatic incident if possible."

Adrian, unfamiliar with Cardassian humour, looked shocked by Damar's words.

"I have better things to do than look at your idiotic face, Adrian," she said. "Leave Cardassia, and don't come back. I have a job to do, and you do not factor into my life in any way."

He reached out his hand to touch her shoulder in objection, putting on his best begging look, and Gin acted instinctively. Taking hold of his wrist she twisted it, turned his arm and applied pressure until he was forced to turn, his arm behind his back. Swiftly, she kicked the back of one knee with her foot, and he sank to the ground. As he did so, she wrapped her free arm around his throat, putting him into a firm choke hold. He gasped for air, unable to talk or properly draw breath. He was old fashioned; he believed that a woman should not be stronger than a man, and it had always irked him that she'd been independent, and more than capable of defending herself. She didn't need his protection, so he felt he was powerless over her. That's why it gave her great pleasure to humiliate him now, in front of the group of world-leaders.

"If I had a knife on me, I would have cut off your hand for daring to try and touch me," she hissed in his ear. "If I ever see you again, Adrian, I won't be so lenient. Now get out of my sight. And change your name back. You no longer have any right to use my family's name; you tarnish it with your filth. If you fail to change it, you can expect to hear from our lawyers _very_ shortly."

Giving his neck one final squeeze, she released her hold and stepped back, kicking him so that he landed gasping for breath face-first on the floor. No longer was he sparkling and immaculate; his face was bright red, verging on purple, and his fine tailored clothes were as dusty as any homeless Cardassian's.

"I apologise for the disturbance, Primarch," she said, taking a deep breath and turning back to Damar. "I didn't mean to delay your tour."

"It was only a minor delay," he said, eyeing the still-prone Adrian carefully. "If everybody is ready..?"

A murmur of assent told him that they were, and they set off towards the newly constructed docking area, led, flanked and followed by armed guards.

"I didn't know you can fight," Damar observed as they left sight of the council building.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Primarch," she replied.

"So it would seem." He turned his head to address Amaro. "Legate, I'd like guards positioned outside the embassy until we leave for the summit."

"You needn't concern yourself with my safety, Primarch," she said. "Adrian won't come looking for revenge. He's not brave enough."

"The safety of everybody on Cardassia is my concern, Ambassador," he told her. "Garak, you will monitor this situation and take action where appropriate."

Gin opened her mouth, trying to object. This was her own personal business, and the Cardassians had no right to 'monitor' it, and certainly no right to take any action. She did not need protection, and she certainly didn't need Garak snooping around in her past. But he merely spoke over her, giving her no chance to voice her words.

"Of course, Primarch."

"Good. Now that that's dealt with, Minister Amaro, I trust you've assigned the guards who'll be escorting us around Deep Space Nine already?"

"I have indeed, Primarch. All sensible men with a fine attention to detail. You need have no worry about your safety whilst on Terok Nor."

The conversation turned once more to the summit, and everything that needed to be done before it, and Gin let her mind wander, the words of the councillors unheeded. They were mostly irrelevant to her, and besides, she was still seething inside from the encounter with Adrian. His arrogance and presumptuousness was sickening. That he could think, after everything he'd done, that she would _ever_ want him back, was ludicrous! And that he had the gall to stand there and imply that they had _both_ made mistakes, that it wasn't entirely his fault that things had ended as they did... it was simply more fuel to the fire of her anger.

She tried to pay attention to the tour, tried to look impressed by the ship, its clean and roomy decks, its pleasantly warm bedrooms, its well-trained crew, but it was hard. All she wanted to do was go back to embassy, grab her phaser and make sure Adrian never bothered her again. Unfortunately, murder was not a trait that the Federation accepted in their ambassadors, and she wasn't about to let him ruin her life again. Still... that didn't mean she had to like it.

o - o - o - o - o

Gin paced back and forth in her office. On her computer, half a dozen Federation reports sat unread, and her comm terminal had been blinking for the past twenty minutes. She ignored it, just as she ignored the window, and its view of the street, where Adrian was standing even now, calling up to her. To drown out his voice she'd activated the music system, and was playing some of her favourite twentieth century swing tracks. Bobby Darin, Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin were _much_ preferable to the incessant wailing of Adrian.

Upon returning to the embassy, after her tour of the Ronak, she'd found a message from Adrian waiting for her. He said he'd forgiven her for acting so rashly in the street. He wanted her back, he said. He was willing to do whatever it took to win back her love and her trust. He was going to follow her across the entire galaxy, if necessary, until she agreed to take him back. For the past two days he'd been standing outside the embassy calling for her like a cat in heat, not daring to enter because of the Cardassian guards. His presence was a distraction, and it made her anger boil.

The door to the embassy opened and she picked up her phaser, but when Damar stepped into her office, his hands raised to show that he himself wasn't armed, she lowered it and tossed it down onto the desk, her fingers tapping over the terminal as she turned the volume down to a more suitable level. Dean Martin grew quieter as he so rightfully pointed out that love was, indeed, a kick in the head.

"Why aren't you answering your comm?" Damar asked. "I've been trying to reach you."

Gin reached over down and activated the flashing comm to Damar's now-empty office.

"Happy?" she asked.

"Actually, I'm not. We leave for the summit tomorrow. You've yet to respond to a number of reports, you still haven't sent your bags to the Ronak for storing until we reach Deep Space Nine, and every time somebody talks to you, you practically rip their head off. I need your mind clear, Ambassador. This is a difficult time for Cardassia. It's time to put your personal feelings aside."

"How can I put my personal feelings aside when _that man_," she hissed, pointing out of the window, "is going to stalk me wherever I go?"

Damar frowned. "Do you think he'll follow you to Deep Space Nine?"

"Probably, yes."

He sat down in the seat in front of her desk and looked at her expectantly.

"What?" she demanded.

"Why's he here? What does he want?"

"Are you deaf? He thinks he can 'win me back'. What he wants, is for me to go back to Earth with him and play happily families," she said bitterly. "Pretend nothing ever happened."

"And who is he? If his name's 'Fox', I assume he's a member of your family, but—"

"He's my ex-husband!" she snapped.

"You're married?"

"_Was_ married. Now I'm divorced. And that _idiot_ thinks he can keep using my family name. Not for much longer... I've contacted my father, and he's pursuing legal action."

"What did he do, to make you hate him so much?" Damar asked. "I've never known you to be violent before."

"It's none of your business. Just... leave me in peace. I promise I won't let him affect my performance at the summit."

His expression blank, he crossed his arms on the desk in front of him. "Either you can tell me about it yourself, or I can ask Garak to go snooping. Would you rather I hear the truth from you, or him?"

"Fine," she snapped again, and sat down in her own chair, putting the desk between herself and Damar. His blue eyes watched her with infuriating calmness. He had her up against a wall, and he knew it. "I met Adrian whilst at a business conference with my family. He seemed like a charming young man, we had a lot in common, we were both from wealthy trading families, so we started courting. Eventually we got married. My brother, Paul, he hated Adrian from the start." She smiled to herself at the memory. "Said there was something about him he didn't trust. That Adrian reminded him of a serpent, that shed its skin whenever it suited, and never revealed what was truly beneath."

She took a deep breath. The next part was painful. So painful that it had caused her to seek out a place to work that was so far from home she need never think of it again. And yet here she was, still trapped by the memory. Still trapped by the pain.

"After we'd been married a few months, I fell pregnant," she said. "I was happy about it, but it wasn't an easy pregnancy. I don't know why, but I was very, very ill. Almost three months into my pregnancy, I suffered a miscarriage. I was in hospital for weeks... I developed septicaemia, almost died. And do you know what my husband was doing, as I lay in bed close to death, devastated over the loss of my child, thinking of ways to blame myself?"

"I can take a pretty good guess," he replied uncomfortably.

"I wouldn't even have found out about it, if it wasn't for Paul. My dear, mistrustful brother hired a private investigator to follow Adrian. And when I was strong enough, he presented me with the photographic evidence of my husband with another woman. Then he went after Adrian. Would have killed him, too, if my father hadn't stopped him. Of course, I divorced Adrian immediately, finished my education and applied for this job. I thought I'd heard the last of him. It seems not."

"So why do you think he's come back for you?" Damar asked, puzzled by the inconsistency of it. "Clearly he has no problem attracting women—no offence—so why you? Do you think he really does love you? That he's come to his senses and realised his mistake in losing you?"

She gave a snort of contempt at the suggestions. "Unlikely. Adrian is a self-serving viper without a conscience or a soul. Most likely he's lost all his money and now wants some of mine. Either his family's gone bankrupt, or they've disowned him for bringing their name into disrepute."

"Do you have any plans to forgive him and take him back?" She gave him a blank stare. "Just checking." He stood up, preparing to leave. "I will deal with Adrian. He won't bother you again."

"Are you going to kill him?" she asked, surprised by his words.

"Of course not. His ship brought aid and he himself is committing no crime, other than making a nuisance of himself."

"Then... what are you going to do?"

He gave her a brief smile. "I'm going to extend the fabled Cardassian hospitality to him, of course."

o - o - o - o - o

The Primarch's office inside the council headquarters was warm and dark. The lights had been dimmed because too much light made Damar's persistent headache worse, and the last thing he needed the day before leaving for the summit was to trigger another flare-up of pain. For the moment he concentrated on his tasks, giving last-minute instructions and arrangements. When the entry chime rang out, he pushed the button to open the door, and looked up as Rokann stepped inside the room.

"Doctor, thank you for coming," he said.

"What can I do for you, Primarch?" the old man asked. Sometimes, Damar wondered how a man so old could have a child as young as Telor. Of course, he did not voice the question aloud. The answers were none of his business. "Is your head paining you again?"

"No, nothing like that," he said, and leant back in his chair. "I need the name of a rare disease that hasn't been seen on Cardassia in a while. Something that we no longer vaccinate against, but is highly infectious and quite dangerous."

"Hmm." Rokann looked thoughtful as he searched his memory. "Rivalan fever, perhaps. It was last seen two centuries ago, and it's caused by a contaminant in water. Once it enters a host body, it becomes airborne and very infectious. It causes weakness in the limbs, and sometimes blindness and paralysis. Some die from it. We stopped vaccinating over seventy years ago, because it's presumed to be an extinct illness."

"Very good, thank you. Now please, stand beside me."

"Primarch?" Rokann asked, confusion painting his scaled face.

"Right here," he said, gesturing at his side. When the doctor limped over to comply, Damar activated the comm unit and hailed the Chastity in orbit. A few seconds later, Captain Benson's pale face appeared on the small viewscreen. Humans still appeared so... odd to him. Their features so flat, their skin so smooth-looking. He'd gotten used to seeing Gin's delicate features, but seeing other Humans reminded him of how strange they really were.

"Primarch Damar?" Captain Benson said, looking both surprised and please. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I am calling concerning a medical matter, Captain," he said calmly. "Have you or any of your crew had personal contact with the crew of the Saviour?" The Saviour was Adrian's ship. A foolish name for a transport vessel which possessed only basic weapons, Damar thought.

"No, we tend to keep apart from the visiting merchants," Benson replied.

"Good. Several of our people are displaying symptoms of a disease called Rivalan Fever. It's something we don't inoculate for, because it hasn't been encountered on our planet in two-hundred years. However, it seems that with everything that's happened recently, our water filtration units may not have been operating correctly, and the disease may have returned. Our doctors tell me it's extremely infectious, but luckily, only ten people possess the symptoms so far."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Primarch." There was genuine concern on the captain's face. He seemed to care deeply, even for people he'd never met before. "It's the last thing your people need, after all they've already been through. Would you like me to send down doctors to help treat the sick?"

"Thank you, but I believe our own doctors can cope, for now. They're busy synthesising a treatment from records we kept from the last outbreak. Unfortunately," he said, trying to sound regretful, "Captain Fox has been in the area where some of the victims were found. And as he's been beaming to and from his ship at regular intervals, we fear that if he is infected, his crew may be too. Therefore, I'm advising you that we'll be quarantining Captain Fox, and his ship, for several days. Just to monitor them for signs of the infection. We don't know how it will present itself in Humans—and I believe that not all of his crew are Human?—and we'd rather not risk spreading this disease across the sector."

"That's understandable, Primarch," Benson said. "I'm glad you're taking swift action over this."

Damar smiled. "I don't expect any resistance from the Saviour's crew, but just in case, I'm sending a galor-class ship to escort it down to the planet's surface. I would appreciate it if you could set up a quarantine zone at the edge of our star system, and advise any incoming ships that for the time being, Cardassia Prime is out of bounds. Naturally, we'll still need to accept shipments of relief supplies, but if I could ask your people to arrange to have it transported down to the planet, I and my people would be in your debt. I'm ordering all of our ships to retreat out of beaming-range of the planet's surface, and I'd be grateful if you would do the same."

"Of course. But what about the summit, Primarch? Isn't it too dangerous for you and your delegation to leave the planet?"

"Maybe," Damar admitted regretfully. "At the first sign of infection from any of the crew, I'll be turning the ship around. But, for the moment, I have to operate under the assumption that we're not infected. The Ronak crew has been aboard its ship for the past few days, and since the outbreak of fever, the delegation members have all taken precautions. I can't just give up on my peoples' future by staying home on the off chance I might get sick, Captain."

"Very well, Primarch," Benson said, looking uncomfortable about the decision, but not having much choice. "We will do as you ask."

"Thank you." He gestured to Rokann. "This is Merak Rokann, Minister for Health. He's also a doctor, and he's going to be monitoring the situation here very closely while I'm gone. I've asked him to liaise with you, and keep you informed of what's happening on the planet's surface. He's the only one, other than myself, who has the authority to lift the quarantine."

"Good luck with the cure, Minister," Captain Benson said. "And please, let me know if you need anything at all."

"I will, Captain. Thank you for your understanding."

The comm unit deactivated, and Damar leant back in his chair. "So helpful, these Federation officers," he pointed out.

"Indeed, Primarch. And with your permission, I'll ask a quarantine team to kit up and pick up Captain Fox." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Once you're gone, I'll give him something mild. Something that produces nasty boils, perhaps. And I'll intimate that it might make the more... sensitive... parts of his anatomy drop off."

"I trust you won't go overboard, Doctor?"

"Me? Overboard? Of course not. I'll just make him regret ever coming to Cardassia. And make sure he never want to come back here. Hmm... do you think it might be too much to suggest that the boils will also make him both impotent and sterile?"

"You have a truly disturbing mind, Doctor. I'm glad I'm not your enemy."

"Just doing my bit for our people, Primarch. May I be excused to make the necessary arrangements?"

"Of course."

Rokann left, and Damar sent instructions to the captain of the Tolvar, asking them to escort the Saviour down to the planet's surface. Then he turned his attention back to his work. By tomorrow, he would be on his way to Deep Space Nine. To the place he had not visited since... since the Dominion withdrawal from Bajor. At the time, he had regretted leaving. He'd wanted to retake Bajor, follow Dukat in teaching the Bajorans a lesson in respect. And now he owed his life, his whole planet, to a Bajoran woman he'd once hated with a passion. That hatred for Bajor and Bajorans had gone. It had died when he had died, during the rebellion against the Dominion. Now he'd be returning to Deep Space Nine to face the woman who had helped him free his people. He'd be returning to the place that haunted his nightmares more than any other.


	12. Deep Space Nine

Restoration

_12. Deep Space Nine_

"Gin! Hurry! We're going to be late!"

Sitting at the desk in her office going over some last minute reports, Gin looked up as Telor rushed into the room. She smiled at his nervous excitement. "Don't worry, Telor. They won't leave without us." Finishing her last report, she programmed the computer to route all communications to her private terminal inside her quarters aboard the Ronak. Then she powered the computer down, along with the lights.

It was blissfully quiet outside. She didn't know what Damar had done to Adrian, nor did she care. She'd simply come back from getting lunch from the dining room's replicator to find the street empty, and Adrian gone. She half hoped that Damar had ordered one of his ships to lock on a tractor beam and haul the Saviour out of Cardassian space, though of course, that probably wouldn't stop Adrian from trying to come back. The Cardassian fleet couldn't use force to keep him away, because Starfleet would leap to the defence of any merchant vessel being accosted in such a manner.

"Gin!"

Telor's shout snapped her out of her reverie, and she rolled her eyes as she picked up her small personal bag. Her larger travelling trunk had already been taken to the Ronak the night before, and stowed in her quarters for the journey.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming," she relented. "Where's your father?" Rokann and Telor had shared breakfast with her earlier in the morning.

"He went on ahead ages ago. He said he wanted to talk to the Primarch about some last minute business. He said he'll be waiting for us at the Ronak." He grinned. "I can't believe it... I'm really going with you! I just hope the Bajorans on the station don't hate me because I'm Cardassian."

She frowned. That didn't sound like something Telor would normally come out with. "Who's been telling you that the Bajorans might hate you, Telor?"

"Minister Amaro. He said that the Bajorans hate Cardassians because we were stronger than them, and we took what we wanted from them and they were powerless to stop us."

"Some Bajorans might hate Cardassians," she agreed, angry with Amaro for putting such thoughts into a child's head. "Cardassians did a lot of bad things to Bajor and its people. But I don't think all Bajorans hate Cardassians. Would a Bajoran have come here to help teach your people how to fight for freedom, if she hated you? And even if the Bajorans on the station _do_ hate Cardassians, why would they hate you? You had nothing to do with what happened to their planet. You weren't even alive for most of it. Let them have their hate. You, and people like you, can show them that there's nothing to hate. Besides," she said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, "I like you, and I think you're a good man. Who cares what some Bajorans think?"

"I guess so," he said. "I suppose I was just a bit worried about how people might look at me on the station. I'd never met any aliens, before I met you. Apart from the Jem'Hadar and the Breen, but they don't count."

"And how do I look at you?"

"Like a friend," he smiled.

"That's right. And don't you forget it. Now let's get going, or we really _will_ be late. And then we'll have to put up with Amaro sighing at us the whole trip."

They left the embassy together and strolled down the street, followed at a distance by the two embassy guards. Telor did his very best to behave like an adult now that he was in public; he didn't run happily or grin with excitement. Gin thought it was a bit of a shame that he had to hide his feelings, but it was simply the Cardassian way. Maturity did not involve frivolous displays of emotion, and Telor was doing everything he could to appear mature. He didn't want anybody—and specifically, Legate Amaro—to have any cause for concern on this trip.

It was a pleasant walk to the Ronak despite the heat. Since Damar had assumed control of the government, the efforts to rebuild and recover had been intensified. People wanted to please him. Everywhere he went, he was recognised and greeted like an old friend or a wise leader. Gin wondered if they would still greet him like that if they'd seen him lying in his bed for weeks, catatonic, or wrapped in his own anger and guilt on the lake shore. Now, she saw the wisdom in the council keeping his existence a secret whilst he was recovering. He'd returned to them whole. A leader. A hero. They would have respected him less had they seen him merely as a man.

Outside the Ronak, the delegation were waiting, but they obviously hadn't been there long. The soldiers, guards for the delegation, were just boarding the vessel, whilst the delegation were sharing last minute words with the rest of the councillors. A crowd had gathered around, because on Cardassia these days, the people were learning that it was okay to form a crowd.

As they approached the crowd, one of the guards went ahead and cleared a path through for Telor and Gin, and when they neared the delegation, she heard Amaro ask Damar if he was going to give a speech.

"I should think the people have had more than enough of my speeches by now, Legate," Damar replied.

"Oh, not at all, Primarch! For instance, Korala tells me she loves to hear you talk of Cardassia's future. I think she'll miss your company whilst we're away, even more than she misses her father!" he chuckled.

Beside Amaro, Garak held up his hand to Gin, meaningfully displaying four fingers. She rolled her eyes, and stood beside him, with Telor by her side. One by one, the councillors came to wish the Primarch farewell, and last of all came Rokann.

"Take care of our people, Primarch," he said.

"You can be sure of it," Damar replied. Then he glanced at the rest of the delegation. "Come. The summit awaits us."

He climbed up the steps of the dock, and into the ship's crew entrance. When he, Amaro and Unaran were inside, Rokann gestured Telor forwards.

"Take care of the Primarch, Telor," he said, and pulled his son into a farewell hug.

"I will, father. I'll see you in seven days," he grinned.

Garak stepped forward, to follow Telor into the spaceship. Rokann gestured for Gin.

"Take care of my son, Gin," he said, taking both of her hands in his.

"You have my word, Merak," she smiled, glad there was nobody to follow. She didn't want to know who was supposed to be taking care of her.

She hurried up the steps, and into the Ronak's dim interior. Telor was waiting for her, and he grinned happily at her as the door was closed. When a member of the crew stepped forward and offered to show them to their rooms, she thanked the man and let her lead them both onwards. The others, she suspected, were probably on the bridge, but she and Telor had no place there. She was a Human, and he was a child. And even in a progressive Cardassia, some things did not change.

o - o - o - o - o

Gin walked through the corridors of the Ronak, following behind Telor. The two day journey had passed quite quickly for her; she was used to ship travel, and had busied herself with work and reading. The two days had dragged for Telor, though. Determined to get through as much of his homework as possible so that he wouldn't miss anything on the station, he'd spent a full day sequestered in his room, working on everything from history assignments to medical study. But even that had grown boring eventually, and Gin had tried her best to keep him occupied with games like Go Fish and Snap, and stories and fairtytales from Earth.

Now he was leading her through the ship towards the dining area, to have one last meal aboard the vessel. It wasn't something Gin was particularly eager for. The ship's replicators created only Cardassian food, and whilst she didn't mind some Cardassian foods, others smelt just dreadful.

When the door to the mess area opened, they found themselves in a large room with several tables inside. A few crewmembers were eating at one table, and at another table, at the far side of the room, Garak and Unaran were sequestered in deep conversation.

"Zabu stew," Telor ordered from the replicator, and a dish of the blue-grey soup appeared for him.

"Redleaf tea," Gin said.

"Aren't you going to eat something? Keep up your strength?"

"Don't try that on me, Telor," she warned in an affable tone. "I'm not the Primarch. Besides, I ate in my quarters not long ago."

When they turned to find an empty table, they didn't get chance. Unaran had noticed them, and beckoned them over, his eyes watching Gin as she approached.

"Ambassador," he said, his voice a purr, "we've barely seen you for the whole trip. Where have you been hiding yourself?"

"Oh, you know how it is. Work work work. A diplomat's life is always busy."

"Of course," he said, and then his tone turned even more demure. "I hope that if we're allotted any free time whilst on Deep Space Nine, you'll agree to a meeting with me, regarding certain... diplomatic affairs. Over drinks, perhaps?"

"If our duties afford us such time," she agreed. And if such a meeting _did_ happen, it would be over very _public_ drinks.

"You must be looking forward to seeing Deep Space Nine, Telor," Garak observed.

"Oh, I am," the boy replied, his voice taking on a solemn tone. "But I know that we're there to work, not for sight-seeing, so I promise I won't let myself be distracted."

"Nobody would hold it against you, if you were."

"Tell me, where is our dear Legate Amaro?" Gin asked, glancing around for any sign of the third Minister.

"With his mouth firmly attached to the Primarch's ba... boots," Unaran amended, with a brief glance at Telor. "Where else?"

"He _has_ been especially clingy, since we left Cardassia," Garak remarked, without much humour. "I get the feeling he's simply _overjoyed_ to have gotten Damar away from the rest of the council."

"You two aren't... plotting something, are you?" she asked suspiciously.

"We? Plot?" Garak held a hand to his chest, and looked scandalised. "Whatever makes you think we'd ever plot against a fellow Cardassian? A fellow _Minister_?"

"Two former agents of the Obsidian Order with a grudge against a military officer who's sucking up to the boss?"

"You wound me with your wild accusations!"

"I assure you, Ambassador," Unaran smiled, displaying white teeth between his grey lips, "we plot nothing." He gave a noncommittal shrug. "If we've been heard to mention on occasion that it would be such a shame for the Legate to experience explosive decompression... well, that is just idle speculation."

The door to the mess area opened and Damar strode into the room, followed closely by Amaro. Gin lowered her eyes to the table and bit her bottom lip; looking at the too-innocent faces of Garak and Unaran made her want to burst out laughing.

"Ah, there you all are," Damar said, striding over. "I checked your quarters, but none of you were there."

"That's because we're here," Garak pointed out. "Excellent use of your deductive skills, Damar. I can see the Obsidian Order were fools not to induct you into their ranks."

"I'm glad you've still got your sense of humour, Garak," Damar replied coldly. "You're going to need it when we're being asked to hand over Cardassian territory." He glanced at everyone else. "The captain just advised me we'll be docking at Deep Space Nine in fifteen minutes."

"I cannot wait to see Terok Nor again," Amaro said, with something of a wistful sigh in his voice. "You have no idea how much it will irk me, seeing it under Federation and Bajoran control."

"Excuse me," Gin said, standing. She wasn't in any mood to hear more of Amaro's xenophobic blustering. "If we've only got fifteen minutes before disembarking, I must get changed now."

"Changed?" Damar asked, frowning. "What do you need to get changed for?"

"To make a good impression." She glanced over the Primarch's plain black trousers and well-fitting but undecorated dark green and blue shirt. "Aren't you getting changed?"

"She's got a point, Damar," Garak said. "Your outfit could use a little livening up. And Amaro, yours is positively dated."

"I'm here to represent the Cardassian military," Amaro huffed, standing taller and raising his chin. "Cardassian military uniforms are a symbol of strength and pride, instantly recognisable by any intelligent civilisation as an indication of power and status."

"Why don't _you_ make a good impression on behalf of the delegation, Ambassador," Damar offered, before a full-scale war could erupt between the military officer and the former spy.

"I think I will. Gentleman," she said, giving them a small bow. Then she offered Telor her arm. "Come, Telor. You can help me button up my dress."

He took her arm with a grin and she let him escort her from the room. When the door closed behind them, Telor laughed, and released her arm.

"I thought Unaran's eyes were going to pop out of his head when you said that," he remarked.

"I'm just glad he didn't offer to help me button up my dress himself."

"Did you really bring _the dress_? I thought you were just joking when you said you were going to bring it."

"Of course I brought it. It's a very nice dress. And like I said, I want to make a good impression. One of our delegation should."

"Do you think I should have brought nicer clothes?" he asked, looking down at his own attire.

"Your clothes are perfect," she said. "You have to remember, that you're not a head of state or a diplomat. People will see you, but they won't have expectations of you."

"Like they will of you, and Da... I mean, the Primarch?"

"That's right." They reached Gin's room and the door opened at her touch. "Come in," she said, and gestured to one of the chairs. "I'll just get changed and you can tell me what you think."

She left him in the main area, stepped into the small bedroom and opened the wardrobe door. Taking out the dress, she removed it from its protective wrapping, then removed her boots and stripped down to her underwear. Getting herself into the dress was difficult, because in essence it had three separate layers which were all inter-connected, but in the end she managed it. From the bottom of the wardrobe she withdrew a pair of silver-coloured slippers which would compliment the dress far better than her boots. It meant she lost just over an inch in height, but she could live with being a little bit shorter, in the name of making a good impression.

When she was ready, she looked at herself in the full-length mirror which covered the wardrobe door. At first she barely even recognised herself; the dress hugged her in all the right places and fell loose where it needed to to allow it to sway with her movement. It fit her perfectly, as if it had been made for her alone. What a stroke of serendipity that she'd found it! Opening a small jewelry box she took out a pair of silver fish-scale drop earrings, and hooked them into the holes in her ears. Normally she did not wear jewelry, but this was no normal day. To finish off her look, she took out a soft red lipstick from her luggage case and applied a layer to her lips, smacking them together to rub in the colour evenly. Then she ran her fingers through her hair, ruffled it up a little at the roots, and stepped out into the main room.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"Wow," Telor replied, his mouth agape. "If I'd just walked past you in the street, I don't think I would have recognised you!"

"That's what I was just thinking," she smiled. "Here, will you button me up at the back?" She turned and lifted her hair up to give him easy access to the difficult-to-reach buttons, and felt him nimbly plucking at each button as it was fastened.

"There. All done," he said.

She turned back to the front and smoothed the dress down over herself, pushing out the wrinkles. "We should probably head to the airlock now," she said. "We don't want the delegation to go on without us, do we?"

"May I escort you, milady?" he bowed, offering her his arm.

"How very chivalrous!"

"I've been reading up about Earth's Arthurian times," he advised her seriously. "Knights and princesses and castles and all that."

"Well, m'learned friend, let us hope you can put some of that knowledge to good use one day."

They walked arm in arm through the ship, the subject of more than a few queer looks from the Ronak's crew, and when they reached the airlock they found the rest of the delegation waiting patiently for depressurisation to complete. When they saw her, they all stared in surprised silence. Garak was the first to recover from his shock at seeing her looking less than her usual official self.

"Might I enquire where you got that dress?" he asked.

"You tell me," she said. "You're the former tailor, aren't you?"

"If I'm not mistaken," he said, running his eyes over her, "and I'm not, it's from an era known in the tailoring industry as 'nimboral taran' which can be roughly translated as 'patience and the hidden jewel', and it's intended as a form of philosophical puzzle as much as it is an item of clothing. But that style went out of fashion over a hundred and fifty years ago, in favour of plainer designs and darker colours. I've seen a dress or two made in the style, but never one as intricate or well-constructed as this. Why, this isn't a dress at all – it's a work of art! It should be in a museum. I never knew you had such an eye for fashion, Ambassador. It seems that yet again, I've underestimated you."

"A cunning plan indeed," Unaran said, stepping forward to take her hand, fixing his almost-black eyes a little lower than she would have liked. "To dazzle our opponents with your radiant beauty."

"You're just full of surprises, Ambassador," said Damar. "Let us just hope the Federation diplomats on the other side of that airlock don't offer us as many during the summit."

"Or that, if they do, they're as pleasant as yours are," Unaran added.

"Could you keep your puerile fawning to a minimum, Minister?" Amaro asked cattily. "I'm beginning to feel nauseous."

"Perhaps it's something you ate," Garak smiled helpfully. Amaro glowered at him.

There was no further rebuttal; the airlock door opened, and Unaran let go of Gin's hand in favour of standing with the rest of the delegation. Gin took Telor's arm and led him to the rear of the small procession, just before the last of the guards.

"Stay close," she whispered, and he nodded.

The first guards stepped into the airlock, and then out onto the corridor. Damar went first, of course, flanked to his right by Amaro, and his left by Garak and Unaran. Gin followed him with Telor in tow, and they were followed in turn by the last guards. Outside the airlock, Gin briefly caught sight of three people waiting—two women, one a red-haired slender Bajoran and one a short black-haired Vulcan, and a Human man just shy of his middle years—before she stood down from the airlock step and had her view mostly obscured by the much taller Cardassians. Gently, she nudged Telor to the left, so they could see around Legate Amaro's blocky form.

"On behalf of Bajor and the Federation," the Bajoran woman said, stepping forward to address Damar directly, "welcome to Deep Space Nine. I believe it's 'Primarch' Damar now, isn't it?"

"That's correct," Damar replied. Gin wished she could see his face. She didn't like being in the background at diplomatic introductions, but she knew that she had to leave this in the hands of Cardassia's leader. "And we thank you for your welcome, Colonel Kira. It's been... a while."

"I must admit," Kira said, with a small smile, "when I heard you were alive, I didn't believe it at first. I thought it was a hoax."

"As you can see, it's no hoax." He turned his head, and gestured to his fellow Cardassians, introducing them in turn. "This is Minister Keran Amaro, Minister Kabor Unaran, and of course, you're already very well acquainted with Minister Elim Garak." The latter two men nodded at the woman, and again, Gin wished she could see their faces. "I'd also like to introduce Federation Ambassador Fox, and Telor Rokann."

"A pleasure to meet you all," Kira said. Then she gestured to the Vulcan woman and the Human man. "Allow me to introduce Ambassador T'Lona of Vulcan, and Admiral Ross of Starfleet Command."

"Ambassador, Admiral," Damar greeted them by title.

"Forgive me for seemingly pointing out what must be blatantly obvious," T'Lona said, her tone even and neutral as she glanced at Telor, "but you brought a _child_ as a member of your delegation?"

"This is the man who found me wounded and saved my life," Damar replied swiftly.

"Of course," the Vulcan acceded. "I apologise if I have caused any offence. It was not my intention."

"Ah, why don't I show you to the quarters we've assigned you?" Kira said. "We're just waiting for the Romulan delegation to dock, so you should have time to freshen up before the summit begins."

"Thank you. We would appreciate that," Damar said.

T'Lona and Admiral Ross left, and Kira turned down a corridor, followed by Damar, the rest of the delegation, and five of the guards. Gin knew that the station was quite sizeable, and she wished she'd thought to look at it from the perspective of the ship as they approached. Cardassian in design, it was familiar, in a way, but it was also strange to see non-Cardassians in it.

"I'm not a clone, if that's what you're wondering," Damar said, and Gin guessed the Colonel had been staring.

"Sorry," the woman apologised. "I just wasn't expecting to see you again, after our assault on Dominion headquarters."

"I'm glad to have this chance, then," he replied. "To thank you for everything you did. I... heard about Odo. We couldn't have freed my people without his help. I'm glad he survived. I just hope he can make his people see sense."

"Something tells me he will," Kira said. She turned into a new corridor, and then stopped. "These are your rooms," she said, indicating doors on both sides of the corridors. "Three on the left, three on the right. The first one on the left is yours, Primarch. Then Minister Unaran, then Minister Amaro. Garak, you've got the first room on the right, followed by Ambassdor Fox and then Telor Rokann." She stopped for a moment, and looked at Telor. "Are you comfortable having your own room, Rokann?"

"Yes, thank you," he replied calmly.

_Very well handled, Colonel,_ Gin thought at the Bajoran woman. She hadn't offended Telor by going over his head and asking one of the men if he was 'allowed' to have his own room.

"Good. I'll leave you to get settled in and send somebody for you when the welcome reception is starting. Should you have need of anything, please let me know."

"So good to see the Colonel again," Garak said once the woman had gone. "I think command suits her. Wouldn't you agree, Primarch?"

"Hmm?" Damar responded absently, his gaze down the long corridor, the opposite way to where the Bajoran woman had gone. "Oh, yes. I agree."

"Should we assemble for a meeting before this welcoming feast begins, Primarch?" Amaro asked.

"No. Go to your quarters and wait. Telor, you'll wait in your quarters while the Ministers and I attend the summit. Don't go wandering off."

"Yes, Primarch," Telor nodded, and made his way to his door.

"Not you, Ambassador," Damar said, before Gin could follow the boy up the corridor. "I have questions about Federation policy which I want to discuss with you."

"I would be interested in hearing about Federation policies too, Primarch," Unaran spoke up.

"Then you can speak to the Ambassador later. I have need of her now."

He gestured for her to follow him and opened the door to his quarters, not even waiting to see if the other men obeyed. Gin followed him, and looked around his quarters as the door swished closed behind her. They were pleasantly spacious and neutrally furnished with comfortable sofas, square tables and a desk for working in one corner. Several potted plants were arranged on windowsills and shelves, which made the whole room feel... alive.

The Primarch went straight to one of the large oval windows and stared out into space. Sensing his need to order his thoughts, she left him alone for the moment, and continued her study of the paintings hanging from the walls of the quarters. They were quite sedate in tone, and reminded her of Japanese writing.

"I can't help thinking that none of this is important," Damar said at last.

"None of what?" she asked, unsure of what exactly he meant.

"This summit. Being here. Maybe I should have sent somebody else. But who else could be trusted with something as unimportantly important as this?"

"I'm not sure I follow, Primarch," she said cautiously. This conversation was heading dangerously into the realm of philosophy. Or madness. Possibly both. She often thought that all philosophers were half mad.

"Come here," he said, and gestured for her to join him at the window. When she did, he said, "look out there and tell me what you see."

"Stars," she said. "Bright, twinkling stars, in the depths of space. Why? What do _you_ see?"

"Nothing. I see nothing at all. But I don't know whether that's because I see more clearly than you, or less."

"Is your head hurting you again?" she frowned.

He laughed. "For the first time in weeks, it isn't. Since I stepped onto this station, it's been fine. Do you know what that means?"

"No. I don't." She was starting to get _very_ concerned, now. She would have preferred the anger and the ranting, to this... this cryptic musing and ill-placed humour. "What do you think it means?"

"It doesn't matter." He shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts. "Tell me. How much does this summit truly matter to my people? Amaro and Unaran, they're so concerned with keeping up appearances, putting on a show, keeping people on their guard about us. Garak... I have no idea what Garak's thinking. I don't know half of what goes through his head. But what does it matter, if people see us as weak? If we capitulate and give the reparations that are asked? It won't change anything that's happening on Cardassia. Who's going to come looking for more? What else can be taken from a people who have nothing to give?"

"What else can be taken?" she asked, struggling to believe these words were coming from Damar's lips. "What about your pride?"

"Our arrogance," he amended. "We haven't had pride for a long time. We've just told ourselves that we have pride. I can't remember the last time a Cardassian did something to be proud of."

"I can," she said. "I can remember the time when a man stood up for what he believed in and dared to say 'no.' I can remember a time when his actions put his name on the lips of everybody on Cardassia. Everybody in the quadrant, even! And I can remember the story told to me by a boy, of how he ran out into the street to save somebody from dying. And how another man gave his life so that the hero of Cardassia could be treated and saved. Yes, you _should_ feel shame for your actions. And you should also feel proud. You're not as alone as you think. Rokann told me that Cardassians have lost sight of what they are. That they don't know _who_ they are. They're just as lost as you. But now's the time to show them what they can be."

"How? How do I do that when I have no idea what _I_ can be? How can I give people an identity when I have no identity of my own anymore?"

"Damar," she sighed, shaking her head. "Now is not the best time to be philosophising about the nature of your existence. I can't tell you how to overcome your problems. All I can do is tell you methods by which some people have overcome theirs."

"I'm listening," he said, his blue eyes watching her face hawkishly.

"In times of emotional or mental turmoil, some people meditate," she began, pacing the room as she tried to recall other ways in which people sought answers. "In the past, people have imbibed various drugs, to help induce visions intended to guide them. Some people consult their god or gods. The Bajorans, I believe, observe their Orbs. I've also heard stories of people who've gone out into the wilderness armed only with a knife, to face their greatest fears; themselves. Or was that a Klingon ritual... Anyway, not important. But, you know, the answers aren't always readily available from within, or a divine source. Some people need to talk to a professional, and undergo counselling, hearing an objective opinion to help them work through their problems."

"Like what we're doing now."

"Sort of," she said hesitantly. "Though you should be aware, I am in no way, shape or form qualified to be a counsellor, and my advice should probably never, ever be heeded. I mean, look at me. Turning thirty next year and I've already got one husband behind me. Do you really think I'm qualified to give anybody else life advice?" she asked wryly.

"I think you're doing a good job so far," he said. "Somehow, things seem a little less complicated when you explain them."

"Then I'm glad I can help."

The door chime activated it, and when Damar opened it there was a Bajoran man standing outside.

"Primarch," he greeted, with a nod of his head, "I'm here to escort your delegation to the welcoming feast."

"Are you ready?" Damar asked, turning his head to address her.

"Of course. I'll just say goodbye to Telor and then we can see what this summit is all about."


	13. Summit

Restoration

_13. Summit_

The Cardassian delegation was led through the habitat ring of the station, along various corridors, up several levels in a turbo-lift, and finally to the wardroom. Even whilst being escorted there, there was tension in the air. Gin could tell that Amaro did not like being led around the former Cardassian station by a Bajoran security officer. It implied that he didn't know his way, and that the Bajorans didn't trust him. Gin knew that they were being escorted out of politeness, not suspicion, but she didn't even bother trying to explain it to Amaro.

When the wardroom door opened, Gin followed the Cardassians into the room. Soft music immediately reached her ears; some form of harp, she thought. Her suspicions were confirmed when she noticed a woman seated at a harp in the far corner of the room, whilst two men accompanied her on unfamiliar string and flute instruments.

The room was already quite full. Four Klingons, one of them wearing a Starfleet uniform, were talking with two Bajoran men; their eyes fell on the new arrivals immediately, and one of them made a growling noise, but nothing came of it. A Betazoid man, distinguishable because of his black eyes, was in deep conversation with a blue-skinned Benzite, who was forced to inhale chemicals from a nose-piece attached to his suit. Benzar's atmosphere, Gin knew, was not of the same oxygen-nitrogen composition as most worlds, and Benzites could not breathe normal air. With them was a Coridanite, wearing a dark mask over his face which left only marginal amounts of skin, along with his eyes, showing. They were probably the Federation delegation, Gin realised, from the member worlds most affected by the war. Betazed had actually been occupied by the Dominion, before the Betazoids had used their telepathic and empathic abilities in a concerted attack to drive out the Jem'Hadar and Vorta.

At the far side of the room, three Breen, wearing their refrigeration suits, were watching the proceedings. Whilst most of the guests had a glass in their hand, the Breen did not. They wouldn't take their helmets off to drink, and risk showing the Alpha Quadrant what lay beneath. They liked being enigmatic far to much, to do that.

Standing near the harp-player was a Ferengi man, a gold-topped stick held in one hand, and a tall, buxom Bajoran woman on his other arm. Two other Ferengi men shadowed him, but Gin did not think they were guards. More likely they were financial advisors, come to advise their Nagus on how best to conduct diplomatic affairs.

In addition to the summit members, there was an inordinately large number of both Bajoran officials and Starfleet officers present, mingling with each other. One well-groomed Bajoran man was speaking with Admiral Ross and Ambassador T'Lona, though his eyes flickered very briefly over Gin when he noticed her beside the Cardassians. Colonel Kira was there too, and when she saw the Cardassians enter, she interrupted her conversation with another Starfleet admiral to come over and greet them.

"Gentlemen," she said, and indicated a table which held myriad bottles and various shapes of glasses, "please help yourselves to drinks."

Before they got chance to get a drink, however, they were approached by the Bajoran man who had been speaking to Admiral Ross, and one of the men who had been talking with the Klingons joined them as well. The former was a tall, good-looking man wearing fine-cut clothing, whilst the latter was dressed in ornate white and gold robes, and wore an intricate earring in his right ear.

"Colonel Kira," the taller, plainer man said as he approached. Gin recognised the request in his words.

"First Minister, please allow me to introduce you to Primarch Damar," Kira said, "along with Ministers Amaro, Garak and Unaran, and Ambassador Fox." Gin wondered how the woman managed to memorise so many names so easily. "And Primarch, this is First Minister Shakaar, and Kai Marro, our new spiritual leader."

"I'm glad to finally meet you," the First Minister of Bajor said to the Primarch of Cardassia. "Colonel Kira has told me much about you. I hope that, once this summit is officially over, you and I will get the chance to sit down together, and discuss the future of our peoples."

"I look forward to it," Damar said. Gin recognised the neutrality in his voice. It was the same neutrality Telor tried for, when he wanted to show that he was mature, and gave none of his feelings away.

The second Bajoran man, Kai Marro, stepped forward. When he lifted his hand, Gin thought he was going to offer it in friendship, but instead he used it to hold the Primarch's ear, of all things. Damar stiffened at the action, and the other three Cardassians looked surprised. Gin had read up on Bajoran customs whilst on the journey to Deep Space Nine. She knew that this was something the adherents of the wormhole aliens they called Prophets did to determine what they called 'Pagh.'What exactly 'Pagh' was, Gin was not too sure, though she suspected it was something like Chi, the life-force of Buddhist or Taoist philosophies on Earth.

At last the Kai released Damar's ear. "Your Pagh is strong, Primarch," he said. Behind Damar, Amaro snorted in disgust or amusement and rolled his eyes.

"Is that a good thing?" Damar asked.

"Those with a strong Pagh are constantly tested. You face many trials ahead of you, Primarch."

"He's the leader of the Cardassian Union," Amaro pointed out. "Of course he has many trials ahead."

"Amaro," Damar warned, "go and get yourself a drink. That goes for the rest of you, too. I would like to talk with the Colonel for a moment."

Casually dismissed, Gin made her way towards the drinks table before the Bajoran spiritual leader could think about grabbing _her_ ear, too. She was joined a moment later by the three Ministers, Amaro grumbling under his breath about the 'crazy Bajorans.'

"Minister Amaro," Garak said, pouring himself a glass of Vulcan brandy, "if you had anything between your ears, I fear you'd be quite dangerous. Did it not occur to you that insulting the spiritual leader of Bajor might _not_ be the best of ideas, given that we're on a Bajoran space-station in Bajoran territory that's defended by rather a lot of impressive Starfleet ships? Or was your pea-sized brain was too busy being distracted by other, more complex thoughts, such as how to string together polysyllabic sentences?"

"I'm going to mingle," Gin said, not particularly in the mood to listen to another Garak–Amaro slanging match.

"Mingle?" Unaran asked.

"Yes, you know. It's that thing you do when you go and meet other people." She quickly poured herself a drink of something only mildly alcoholic—a peach-flavour Earth cocktail, it turned out—and set off into the room before Unaran could offer to join her. She didn't have to wait long before she was noticed; Ambassador T'Lona was talking with two of the Klingons, and she called out to Gin.

"Ambassador Fox," she said, and waited until Gin approached the small group. "Ambassador, I would like to introduce you to Chancellor Martok and Commander Worf, the Federation Ambassador to the Klingon Empire." She gestured to an older man wearing impressive attire which made him appear even taller than he already was, and a younger man wearing a Starfleet uniform.

"An honour to meet you both," Gin said, offering them a bow.

"And you, Ambassador," said the Chancellor. His one good eye—the other was covered by a mass of ill-healed scar tissue—appraised her frankly. "Tell me, how are you finding life on Cardassia?"

"A challenge," she admitted. "It's not easy, seeing the suffering that happens there, but conditions are improving, albeit slowly."

"It is... strange... to think of Damar as the leader of Cardassia," Commander Worf said, eyeing the Primarch across the room.

"We live in interesting times," she agreed. "I do believe, though, that sometimes, ordinary men can make extraordinary leaders."

"There is wisdom in your words," said the Chancellor. "Wouldn't you agree, Worf?"

"Of course, Chancellor."

"You are fortunate, Ambassador Fox," said T'Lona. "If anything is going to change in this quadrant, it will be Cardassia, and the Cardassian people. You are in a unique position to witness how those changes unfold. Centuries from now, historians might read your words and your accounts."

"Yes, I suppose I do have front row seats," she said. The Vulcan quirked a questioning eyebrow at the expression.

The wardroom door opened again, and a new group stepped inside the room. Four dark-haired Romulans, a greenish tinge to their skin, looked around, their dark eyes appraising the room's occupants. Behind them was a tall, grey-haired human man, probably their own Federation ambassador. Gin saw Colonel Kira excuse herself from the conversation with Damar and the two Bajoran leaders, and move to greet the Romulans.

"Hngh. Romulans," Chancellor Martok grunted.

"This should prove to be an... interesting... summit," said Commander Worf, his gaze fixed on the newcomers.

"Do you know what will be asked of Cardassia, as far as reparations are concerned, Chancellor?" Gin asked.

"You know I can't discuss that until the summit begins," he replied. "All I can say is that the reparations will be directly proportional to the actions of the Cardassians during the war. _Fortunately_ for them, it was the Jem'Hadar who took Betazed, and the Dominion and Breen ships which inflicted the most damage during skirmishes, rather than the Cardassian fleet."

The Romulans made a move towards the drinks table, and the three Cardassians took a step back to allow them access. Gin could have sighed; Amaro could barely keep the disdain off his face as he looked at the newcomers. Did he hate _everyone_ who wasn't Cardassian? Fortunately, before anything could come of it, Colonel Kira stepped into the centre of the room, and tapped the side of her own glass with a spoon, calling for attention. The room quickly fell silent; even the musicians stopped playing.

"I would like to officially welcome you all to this three day summit," she said, her brown eyes scanning over the faces in the crowd. "Today is an important day. Today we look at putting the past behind us, and working towards the future as friends and allies. These past few months have not been easy; we've all lost people that we care about. But we hope that we can move forward, to build a better future for ourselves, and our children. Bajor is proud to host this summit, and we have prepared a meal, which we hope you will all share in before the meeting officially begins."

On her cue, a couple of Bajorans pulled back long white cloths over several tables at the far side of the room, revealing an extravagant buffet beneath. There was everything from Earth food to Romulan cuisine; Klingon gagh, Bajoran dishes, Cardassian delights, and various foods which Gin didn't recognise.

"I wonder how they managed to keep their gagh fresh," Martok said curiously. He wandered off towards the table with Commander Worf in tow.

"I believe the Bajorans will make an excellent addition to the Federation," T'Lona said, as people began to gravitate towards the food.

"Do you think that will happen soon?" Gin asked. For the moment, the two were alone.

"Sooner than you might have guessed. This summit is not the only reason why Ambassadors from Betazed, Benzar and Coridan are here, nor why Admiral Ross is here. Once the summit has been concluded, and the foreign delegations have returned to their homes, we Ambassadors will be reviewing Bajor's application to join the Federation as full members. I haven't seen all of the available data in support of their request, but it looks very promising. The Bajorans have come a long way in such a short time."

"I wish them luck with their application," Gin replied.

"Luck will have nothing to do with it, Ambassador," T'Lona assured her.

At that moment, Gin saw both Bajorans leave Damar, and decided to make the most of his momentary solitude. "Excuse me, Ambassador. I must confer with Primarch Damar."

She managed to leave T'Lona and reach Damar before anybody else could grab his attention, and she gestured for him to join her a little further away from the food table. Knowing Damar, he probably wouldn't eat anyway. She thought he'd lost weight since waking up from his catatonic state.

"Ambassador T'Lona just told me that after the summit, the Ambassadors are going to assess Bajor for Federation membership," she said quietly.

"Good for them," Damar replied without feeling.

"Are you worried by what Kai Marro said?"

"Not at all. I'm not afraid of challenge. Failing any such challenges, however, is another matter."

"Sometimes, we learn more quickly from our defeats than our successes."

"I thought you'd say something like that."

"I'm becoming too predictable, then. I'll have to think of something more surprising."

He glanced down at her. "Like that dress?"

"I told you I wanted to make a good impression," she smiled. "Do you think I accomplished it?"

"You certainly opened a few eyes."

"I'll take that as a compliment." She glanced at the Cardassian delegation near the food table, and saw Amaro pulling his face in disgust at the gagh wriggling around in a deep dish. "How can you tolerate his xenophobic arrogance?" she asked, her gaze still on the Legate.

"Because I have to. If I'm going to unite the people of Cardassia, I need to unite all of them. Not just the ones I like."

She nodded, only half listening as her sense of mischief kicked in. "Excuse me," she said, "I need to get some food." And besides, the chance to disgust Amaro even further was just too good to pass up. Ignoring the look of surprise on Damar's face at the sudden end to the conversation, she hurried to the food table, picked up an empty plate, and insinuated herself between Garak and Unaran.

"Oh, wonderful, fresh gagh!" she said, and reached out for a handful of the live, squirming worm-like creatures. Klingons, possessing above-human constitution, were not as bothered about personal hygiene, and as such, there were no serving utensils for the Klingon foods. The creatures in her hand were warm and slithered desperately trying to free themselves. She put the handful on her plate, then selected a few leaves of lettuce from a salad bowl as an accompaniment.

"You're not really going to eat that, are you?" Unaran asked, looking at her plate.

"Of course. Lettuce is a common plant on Earth."

"I was referring to the worms."

"Oh, they're not worms, they're gagh. And of course I'm going to eat them. I didn't pick them just to look at them, you know."

"I'll believe that when I see it," Amaro snorted. "You Humans are all the same... all talk, and no action."

Gin shrugged, picked up one of the wriggling gagh, and put it into her mouth, chewing for a moment before swallowing. It wasn't the first time she'd had gagh—when you were from an affluent trading family, you learnt to accept strange customs of your trading partners—and it wasn't too bad to eat, as long as you didn't actually _think_ about what you were eating. Most of the varieties tended to taste like chicken anyway, albeit warm, wriggling juicy chicken.

"You know," she said, as she picked up another of the fat grub-like worms, "I think this would go well with yamok sauce." She looked around the table. "Do we happen to have any here?"

"Ah, it's over there," Garak said, pointing to a dish on the next table, where the Cardassian foods were placed.

She spread some of the yamok sauce over the gagh, then returned to Primarch Damar, who'd watched the whole exchange with a look of indifferent amusement.

"Gagh?" she offered him, as she approached.

"I'm not hungry," he replied.

"You should eat. You don't look as healthy as you should."

"Now you sound like Rokann," he sighed. Then he looked at her plate. "Are you really going to finish the rest of that?"

"Are you kidding?" she snorted. "If I wouldn't eat yamok sauce with chicken, I certainly wouldn't eat it with gagh. But I have forever linked, in Amaro's mind, yamok sauce with Klingon gagh." She grinned. "I think that was worth spoiling a little gagh for."

"Your mind is a... twisted place, at times, Ambassador," he said appreciatively.

"I'm glad you've noticed."

The three other Cardassians rejoined them, their plates containing mostly Cardassian foods, and Gin noticed Damar's gaze was centered now on the three Breen, none of which were partaking in the feast.

"I don't trust them," Garak said quietly. Possibly it was meant to be said to himself, but the rest of the delegation heard it.

"I've never trusted the Breen," Amaro said with a scowl. "As soon as the Dominion signed a treaty with them, I knew they'd be trouble."

"I wonder what they're hiding, beneath those helmets," Unaran said, deep suspicion in his voice.

"Forget about the Breen," Damar said. "They're not why we're here."

"Yes," Amaro said. "As for that, I wish they'd just get on with the summit instead of going through all this... false pretence and pleasantry."

"There is nothing false about it, Minister," Gin said. "This is merely how other races interact and form friendships. And if Cardassia wants to form friendships, it will have to learn how to be more... personable."

"Cardassia does not need friendships," Amaro replied. Before he could respond further, however, Damar held his hand up for silence, and the conversation was dropped.

Gin lowered her gaze, to consider the gagh currently drowning in yamok sauce. Had they been smart enough, together, some might have survived the thick liquid. But they were too busy fighting each other, crawling over each other, trying to escape, every gagh for himself. She just hoped that she wouldn't one day have to liken the fall of Cardassia to the struggle of drowning gagh.

o - o - o - o - o

Eventually, Amaro got his wish, and the delegations were led into the next room, where they were seated at a long table. At the head sat the Federation ambassadors, including a middle-aged Human woman Gin had not yet been introduced to, as well as Admiral Ross. Then came the Klingons and the Romulans to either side, with the Cardassians seated down from the Klingons, and the Breen seated down from the Romulans. At the bottom of the table was Grand Nagus Rom and his two advisors, along with First Minister Shakaar, Colonel Kira and Kai Morro. As far as Gin understood it, the Ferengi and the Bajorans were present as witnesses and for other aspects of the summit, not to request reparations themselves.

As soon as everybody was seated, the summit began. Ambassador T'Lona began by outlining the agenda for the next three days, and asking if everybody could agree to it. When there were no objections, she handed control of the meeting over to the Betazed Ambassador, a man named Reyn Varli, who explained that the Cardassians and the Breen, as members of the Dominion during its attack on the Alpha Quadrant, had two choices; either they could arrange to have rebuilt all of the buildings and facilities, both planet-side and in space, that were destroyed by the Dominion troops, or they could arrange for monetary renumeration to that value.

Amaro could be heard nashing his teeth, but there was little he could do about it. Because Cardassia's finances were in ruin, Damar chose the first option, to assign Cardassian builders to help reconstruction efforts on Betazed and in the Benzar and Coridan systems. Unfortunately, that meant taking builders away from Cardassia itself, which was also in dire need, but Gin didn't bring that up; from the expression on Damar's face, he was already perfectly aware of that fact.

The Breen, on the other hand, agreed to pay for restoration costs, rather than offer their people as labourers for construction work. But if Gin had thought that the reparations would be over with that quickly, she was sorely mistaken. Both the Cardassians and the Breen were given a list of reparation demands on datapads, and they made for sombre lists.

"Three systems each, to be handed over to the Federation, Romulans and Klingons?" Amaro exploded. "Three systems of their _choice_?! That is out of the question!"

"These are not negotiable terms, Legate," T'Lona said calmly. "This is not a business transaction, but a discussion of reparations to be made due to atrocities committed by your military during its alliance with the Dominion. We are trying the Founder as a war criminal. If you would prefer the same treatment, instead of reparations, that can be arranged."

"Primarch," Admiral Ross said, clearly thinking that Amaro was speaking for him. "You can barely provide enough for the people on your homeworld. The systems named in this agreement are all uninhabited, save for one, and of little strategic or resource value to the Cardassian Union in the near future."

"Oh, so you're doing us a _favour_ by stealing our territory from our dying hands?" Amaro growled angrily.

Apparently, the Breen were not impressed by their list of reparations, either. One of the delegate spoke, his electronic translater distorting his words to such an extent that it was difficult for Gin's universal translator to correct it.

"The reason you're being penalised more heavily, Thot Mor," Ross explained, "is because your people are responsible for the destruction of an entire fleet at Chin'Toka, because your people chose to join the war when they could have opposed it, and because your ships were amongst the Dominion fleet to open fire on Cardassia Prime in an attempt to exterminate the population." The Breen spoke again, and Admiral Ross lifted his chin. "I know that. Why do you think it's taken us this long to arrange a summit? But if you walk out of this summit now, I promise you, action will be taken to prevent the Breen Confederacy from ever becoming a danger to the Alpha Quadrant again."

Amaro wasn't finished, either. He was still reading the data on his pad, and he exploded angrily once more when he read the next point.

"The Cardassian Union is to halt any present or future expansion into the Demilitarised Zone, and allow the Federation to continue colonisation attempts in that area? These aren't reparations, they are a joke! And a poor one at that."

"This day has been trying, for all of us," Ambassador T'Lona spoke up. "I would like to suggest a recess until tomorrow. This will give all parties involved a chance to rest and discuss the terms of our respective agreements amongst themselves. Perhaps tomorrow morning we can move past this, and on to our discussion of the future of the Alpha Quadrant."

There were no objections, and the Breen were the first to leave the room. They were followed by the Romulans, and two of the Federation Ambassadors. Gin stood when her own delegation did, and they left the remaining diplomats to their own discussions at the table. Each Cardassian man was silent as they walked down the corridor, returning to their own quarters. Amaro was fuming, though, his face a mask of anger. Knowing that Damar would want to talk about the reparations, and that it might take a long time for them to make a decision, Gin collected Telor from his room and then led him into Damar's quarters, where the men were sitting around the small coffee table. At least, three of them were sitting. Amaro was pacing and ranting angrily, the offending datapad in his hand.

"Item number three," he was saying. Gin nudged Telor towards a chair at the small dining table, out of the way of Amaro's wrath. "The Cardassian fleet shall be no larger in size than a third of the Federation fleet! They're looking to cripple us, Damar! How are we to defend our territory with such a small fleet?! Our ships don't possess the same level of technology as Federation ships... we rely on numbers for success! Not that we'll have any territory left, once we've given it all away to the Federation, Klingons and Romulans."

"You're not reading the full agreement, Minister," Gin pointed out, consulting her own PADD. "Yes, you're asked to make territorial concessions, but we already knew that would happen. And losing a total of nine systems is not so great a loss when you consider that the Breen are being told to give back what was signed away to them during the Dominion occupation of Cardassia."

"How _merciful_ of the Federation, to keep us in consideration when dividing up the Alpha Quadrant like a piece of rulot pie!"

"Admiral Ross does have a point," Garak spoke up. "We can't afford to run long supply-lines at the moment. If we were to let go of some of the more out-lying systems, we could concentrate more fully on centralising our restoration efforts. Make Cardassia Prime strong, lay the foundations, and then expand outwards."

"And take back what is rightfully ours," Unaran said, and Garak rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Besides," Gin continued, reading from the datapad, "you won't be defenceless. It clearly states here that in the event of a military matter which cannot be handled by the Cardassian fleet alone, Starfleet will send ships to assist."

"So we're supposed to rely upon Starfleet's benevolence to protect our own interests? When the Klingons come invading again, is the Federation really going to send their fleet to fire upon their allies?"

"They'll have to," Garak said. "I've recently learnt that two days ago, the Federation, Klingons and Romulans signed a pact that if any one of them should make an aggressive move against the others, or any planets counted as protectorates of the others, those others will intervene with both diplomatic and military channels. That means that if the Klingons attack us, the Federation will be forced to defend us, and both they and the Romulans will be forced to declare open war on the Klingon Empire. And vice versa, of course, should the Romulans decide to invade."

"And just how did you hear that?" Unaran demanded. "My contacts have picked up no such information."

"Oh, it's all very hush hush at the moment," Garak smiled.

"And if the Federation themselves should invade us?" Amaro asked. "The Romulans and Klingons might just sit back and accept it as 'internal affairs'."

"If the Federation wanted to invade, it would have done so already," Gin pointed out. "What you don't understand is that the whole quadrant is fed up of war. Nobody wants another one, not even the Klingons. Everybody wants to just go home and lick their wounds, and try to recover."

"Primarch," Amaro said, leaning down to address Damar, whose gaze was focused on the small PADD on the coffee table, "do not agree to these reparations. They restrict our territory, cripple our fleet, and take away our avenues for expansion. It's all well and good claiming that the Federation will defend us, but most of their fleet isn't stationed near our space. What's to prevent them from conveniently not being able to get here in time? Brave Cardassian men, women and children gave their lives for our empire, Primarch. If you hand over our territory and agree to limit our fleet, those people will have died for nothing."

Gin took a seat on the sofa beside Damar, and leant forward so she could speak softly, in opposition to Amaro's loud blustering. "I counsel you to accept these reparations, Primarch," she said. "As Garak pointed out, you need to concentrate on Cardassia prime, on building a strong base of power, a strong economy, and on making your society one that you and your people can be proud of. If you don't accept these reparations, you will essentially be standing alone. You will be cut off from friends and allies, left to the mercy of any passing power that thinks it can take a chunk from your empire. The men, women and children who gave their lives really _will_ have died in vain if you allow Cardassia to wither and die from entropy, victims of your own suspicion and mistrust."

Damar stood up, and Gin leant back. Then he walked to the door, and it opened at his approach.

"Primarch?" Amaro asked, looking confused. "Where are you going?"

"I have to be somewhere," Damar replied, his voice and his eyes showing no emotion, no feeling, no... anything.

"Then I'll—"

"You'll leave me in peace, Amaro. All of you. Do as you please."

He left, and the door closed behind him. A moment of silence descended on the room. Then Amaro rounded on Gin.

"This is your fault!" he said. "I knew we shouldn't have brought you with us. But no, the Primarch thought you might be _useful_. Ha! A Klingon with a toothache would be more use than you."

"My fault?" she asked, standing up. "Is it my fault that your power-hungry leaders signed away the rights to their freedom to the Dominion? Is it my fault your soldiers died by the millions, carrying out Dominion orders? Is it my fault the Founder ordered your people exterminated? Blame me all you like, Amaro. Anything to shift the blame from the real criminals here; you, and the rest of your power-hungry jackals who thought they could have their cake and eat it."

"Perhaps," Garak said, standing between the two as if he feared they might come to blows, "it would be best if we all... dispersed. Give our heads a chance to cool down."

"Fine," Gin snapped, and held out her hand towards Telor. "Come, Telor. Let's go for a walk and see some of this fine _Bajoran_ station."

"The boy stays here!" Amaro objected. "I'm not having you tainting his mind with your warped ideals and treasonous thoughts."

"Really? Well Rokann appointed _me_ Telor's guardian whilst we're here. If you have a problem with that, feel free to contact him to complain." She held out her hand again. "Come on, Telor. Let's leave the Minister to listen to the sound of his own voice, since it's the only thing he seems to enjoy."

Telor hurried forwards, past the angry Legate, and took her hand. Together they left the room and stepped into the corridor, where there was no sign of Damar.

"I don't think I've ever seen Amaro that angry," Telor said, his eyes wide. "Did the Federation Alliance really ask for all those things?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "But they asked more of the Breen. It's not really as bad as Amaro is making out. He just hates to lose."

"So, where are we going?"

"I have no idea," she admitted. "Where do you want to go?"

"The Promenade," he replied with a smile. "I've memorised the layout of some of the station whilst waiting for you to finish your summit. The Promenade is the cultural hub of the whole station. There's restaurants and entertainment venues, as well as shops and even a Bajoran temple!"

"Okay," she agreed. "Lead the way!"

He really had been telling the truth about memorising part of the station, and he took her unerringly towards the centre of the habitat ring. When they entered a turbolift and descended a level, they stepped out onto an open boulevard full of all sorts of different people; Bolians, Vulcans, Trill, Bajorans, Betazoids, Ferengi, Humans, Ktarians, Andorians, Pakled, Zakdorn and Kobheerians; they represented just a small fraction of the variety of people present.

"Wow," Telor said, stepping out of the lift and staring up in wonder at the promenade's second level, where yet more aliens were going about their business. "I don't think I've ever seen so many different people! What's he?" he asked, pointing to a bald alien man with a wrinkled face and tufted ears.

"A Yridian," she said, and lowered his arm. "Also, it's rude to point."

"Oh, sorry," he said. "Are those Bajorans?" He nodded to a group of young women wearing colourful skirts, who passed by talking excitedly to one another. Long chain earrings dangled from their right ears.

"That's right," she said.

"And what about him?" He nodded towards a dark-skinned alien man with a crested scaley look.

"Kressari," she replied.

"He looks very different," Telor pointed out. "I used to think that you looked very different to Cardassians, but we're more similar to each other than we are to him. And there's a man over there who's green and blue."

"He's a Takaran," she told him.

When they reached a small kiosk that had three Bajoran children standing in front of it, Telor stopped walking to observe them. When the kiosk owner gave them each a stick of something large and roughly lolly-pop-looking, they all ran off laughing. The owner, a slim Bajoran woman, looked up to see Telor and Gin perusing at her merchandise.

"Would you like to try one?" she asked Telor. "First one's always free."

"What are they?"

"Jumja," the woman replied with a smile. "Very sweet. I guarantee you'll be back for another."

"Can I?" Telor asked Gin.

"Sure," she shrugged. "Just, don't go having an allergic reaction to them or anything. Your father won't thank me if I poison you."

"Oh, they're perfectly safe for most humanoid races, Cardassians included," the woman replied. She picked up one of the sticks and handed it to Telor. "There you go. Enjoy. And please come back when you'd like another."

They continued their walk, and Telor licked the jumja stick, his eyebrows rising in surprise. "It _is_ sweet! You should try one, Gin."

"Maybe some other time," she said, catching sight of a completely different type of shop. "Right now I think I'll settle for a drink. Let's go in there."

She pointed to a crowded bar, and Telor nodded, happy to follow now that he had something to keep him occupied. When they entered the room, it quickly became apparent what type of bar it was. Several short, large-eared Ferengi were dashing to and fro with drinks trays in their hands, fetching new refreshments and taking away used glasses. Gambling machines were placed at one side of the room, operated by scantily clad women of varying species. Telor's eyes went wide when he saw them.

"Hey, keep your eyes on your jumja stick," she warned.

"Sorry," he said, looking contrite.

She led him towards the bar and found two empty stools, taking one for herself as Telor clambered into the second. For a moment she thought there was nobody around to serve drinks, then yet another Ferengi popped up from beneath the bar with a bottle in his hand. He took one look at Telor and raised a finger in warning.

"Persons under the age of eighteen are not permitted in this establishment," he warned.

"If you want my custom," Gin said with a smile, "he stays."

The Ferengi turned to object, but then stopped and stared at her, his finger raised but with no sounds coming out of his mouth.

"It's okay," Telor said. "This bar's a bit noisy for me anyway. Can I go and look at the rest of the promenade whilst you have your drink?"

"Alright," she agreed, feeling a little bit concerned about him going off on his own. But it wasn't as if there weren't dozens of people around. He was a smart young man, he'd be perfectly safe. "But be careful."

He gave her one of his trademark grins and made his way out of the bar. Gin watched the Ferengi's eyes follow him for a moment, before they returned back to her.

"The kid doesn't look anything like you," he said.

"That's because he isn't mine, Mister..."

"Quark." He opened his arms wide to indicate the entire bar area. "Owner and proprietor of this fine establishment. And I'm glad to hear it," he said, taking one of her hands in both of his, "you want to stay away from Cardassians. You never know where they've been."

"If only it were that easy," she replied. "Can I get a drink now?"

"Of course," he said happily. "What can I get for you?"

"A glass of kanar."

"Kanar?!" He pulled a disgusted face. "What do you want to drink that for? It's disgusting."

"I've never tried it," she admitted. "And I'd like to."

"Well, take it from someone who has; you're better off without. Foul stuff."

She took two strips of latinum from her pocket and slid them across the bar top. His eyes followed them greedily.

"Kanar it is," he said.

"And make it whichever is the best vintage," she said, adding another strip, which his greedy little eyes picked up on immediately.

"Whatever you say, lady."

He turned around and reached up to a high shelf, pulling down a wavy-shaped bottle of brown-coloured liquid. Then he took out a clean glass and poured a measure into it, handing her the glass once the liquid had settled. She brought the glass to her nose and sniffed it for a moment; it smelt spicy, and strong. Then she lowered the glass to her lips and let a small amount of the liquid trickle onto her tongue. It was every bit as spicy as she had been expecting, but not in an overpowering curry type way, more of a pervasive, warming way. Nor did it taste half as foul as Quark had claimed.

"It's... interesting," she said at last. "I think the people back home might be interested. How much of this stuff do you have?"

"A couple of crates left over from the Dominion occupation of the station," he shrugged, wiping his hands on a towel.

"How many is 'a couple'?" she asked.

"Five."

"Hmm," she said, eyeing him thoughtfully. He was lying; she knew his was lying by his tone of voice and the fact that Ferengi _never_ told the truth when discussing business. "You know what?" she asked, leaning towards him.

"What?"

She gestured for him to lean closer, and when he did, she swiftly grabbed his ear and began massaging the skin with the pads of her fingers and the side of her hand. Her father had often thought it hilarious to let her do this at negotiations with the Ferengi, though of course, they kept it a secret from her mother, who would have been positively scandalised... or possibly jealous that her daughter had picked up an extra skill.

"I think you have more than five," she whispered, as he began making small happy sounds. "How many do you _really_ have?"

"Twenty!" he gasped, and she moved her hand to an even more sensitive part of his ear. "Alright, alright, I've got thirty crates."

"Do you have a datapad?" she asked.

He groped under the bar counter and came up with a Ferengi-design PADD, which he put down. Using her free hand, she tapped on the keypad a few times, then handed it back to him. He glanced at it, and then his eyes widened as he saw the numbers. Grabbing the PADD from her hand, he stood up, pulling away from her touch.

"What's this?"

"How much I'm willing to give you for your thirty crates of kanar."

"Outrageous," he said. "I demand half as much again."

"You can have ten percent more."

"Twenty-five."

"Seventeen and a half."

"Done."

"If you'll just sign here," she said, offering the PADD back to him, so he could put his thumb-print on it.

"And now you sign here," he replied, turning the datapad around. She pressed her thumb to it and the deal was finalised.

"You'll have the thirty crates transferred to a cargo hold on the Ronak before tomorrow night."

"The Ronak?" he said, putting the PADD away. "Isn't that the ship that the Cardassian delegation came for the summit on?"

"That's right."

"I thought you said the folks back home would like the kanar..?"

"Yes. I'm the Federation ambassador to Cardassia."

His eyes went wide. "You mean I just sold all my kanar to an Ambassador of a planet hit by a major kanar shortage?"

"At a very reasonable price too, I might add," she smiled.

"You... you... females!" he huffed. Then he leant in closer to her. "You know, I'd be willing to throw in a crate of Earth brandy, for an after-work oo-mox session."

"I'll think about it," she said casually.

"Gin!"

She looked up to see Telor hurrying into the bar. When Quark scowled at him, he continued before he could be thrown out.

"Amaro just asked me if I've seen Damar anywhere. He can't find him, and I've already looked everywhere on the promenade myself!"

_Ahh_, Gin thought. So that's why Telor had been so eager to go off and explore on his own, instead of keeping her company. He'd been hoping to find and check up on Damar.

"Damar?" Quark asked. "My old friend Damar? If I know him, he's gone to wherever there's most kanar available." He looked thoughtful. "Which admittedly, should be here. Maybe something's wrong with him."

"Is there a fast way for us to search the station?" she asked him. "It's huge, and we don't have time to canvass it all."

"You could try the security office. I'm sure Major Toram will be happy to help."

"I know where the security office is," Telor said. "I walked past it earlier."

"Well, there you go," Quark said. "Sounds like you've got everything you need."

"It was a pleasure doing business with you, Quark," Gin said, standing up and pushing her empty glass back across the bar. "I might come back for another drink some time."

He caught her hand before she could turn away. "Remember my offer," he said, his little eyes shining greedily.

Gin half expected Telor to question her about Quark's words as they left the bar, but it seemed he was far too concerned about Damar to think of anything else. He almost jogged along the promenade towards the security office, and kept turning back to her, imploring her to hurry. When they reached it, the wide door opened as they neared, and they saw a beige-uniformed Bajoran man seated behind the front desk, reading reports from his datapad. He looked up at them when they entered, and seemed surprised by their presence.

"Is there something I can do for you?"

"We need to find Primarch Damar!" Telor blurted out. The Bajoran glanced at him in suspicion, then looked up to Gin.

"My name is Ambassador Fox," she explained with a smile, holding out her hand to him. "I'm the Federation ambassador assigned to the Cardassian Union."

"Ah, yes," he said, taking her hand and shaking it. "I thought I recognised your face. I reviewed all files for delegation personnel coming aboard for the summit. Major Toram, at your disposal, Ambassador."

"Thank you, Major, how very helpful," she said, offering him another smile. "I'm afraid that Telor and I got separated from Primarch Damar whilst sight-seeing. We've looked everywhere on the promenade, and he's not in his quarters or on our vessel. I was wondering if you'd be able to help us find him."

"Of course. Computer, please locate Primarch Damar."

"Primarch Damar is located in habitat ring level two, section eight, corridor B-06-P," the station computer replied.

"Is it possible to see a map of that area, in relation to where we are now?" she asked. Toram pressed a button on his console and brought up a schematic diagram. Telor studied it eagerly for a moment.

"I know where that is," he said.

"Thank you for all your help, Major," Gin said.

"No problem, Ambassador. But I'd recommend that your delegation stay close together in future. It's a big station."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Trusting to Telor's memory, she allowed him to lead the way back to the habitat ring, and up in the turbolift to level two. It was a quieter area than level one, where she, and presumably all of the summit delegation members, had been given quarters, and they passed only a pair of Bajorans as they followed the corridor around in a large circular pattern. When she heard Telor sigh with relief, she looked ahead and saw Damar standing in the corridor, looking at something further along the floor. He ignored both Gin and Telor as they approached, and when Gin stepped in front of him, she saw that his gaze was fixed staring at the beige carpeted floor.

"Primarch?" she asked.

"This is where I killed her," he replied.

"Telor, go back to your quarters," she said immediately.

"But—"

"No arguments. Go now."

Telor gave Damar one last look, then made an about-turn and disappeared down the corridor. She could only trust that he had truly obeyed her, and that he wasn't loitering nearby. Turning back to Damar, she studied him for a moment. How long had he been standing here, staring? How many people had walked past, wondering if he was out of his mind? She had to do something, to get him to return to his quarters, where at least if he was going to be crazy, he could be crazy in privacy.

"Where you killed who?" she asked him. When he didn't answer, she offered a suggestion. "Ziyal?"

"I killed her because she betrayed us. Because she betrayed Cardassia. Because she didn't deserve to have a father who loved her as much as Dukat did." His gaze didn't alter at all as he spoke. "This is the first time I've been back here since I murdered her. A young woman, little more than a girl, with her whole life ahead of her. I took that life away."

She closed her eyes. Suddenly, the reason for Damar wanting to attend this conference became clear. He hadn't wanted to come because of the summit. He'd wanted to come so he could stand here and face his own crimes.

"You made a terrible mistake," she admitted gently. "And I think you've paid the price."

"He forgave me," Damar continued, apparently not hearing her words. "Dukat, her father. He forgave me. I think even Garak has forgiven me, in his own strange way. But she hasn't, and she never will. Her face haunts my dreams when I sleep, so I don't."

Her heart went out to him then, because she knew exactly how he felt. She, too, had lain awake at nights blaming herself. She _must _have done something to cause the death of her unborn child. If only she'd done something differently. Something. Anything. Why had her baby died? In time, she'd come to see it for what it was; a terrible tragedy that wasn't her fault. Sometimes it happened, and nobody could explain it. Admittedly, her anger at Adrian's actions had helped her to overcome her grief.

What Damar faced now was even worse than what she had gone through, because Ziyal's death _was_ his fault. He had pulled the trigger of his weapon and killed an innocent young woman. And worse, though he had condemned her to death for her actions at the time, he had later gone on to repeat those actions himself. She had died in vain because she had been doing the right thing all along, only he hadn't known it then.

This was not a problem that would go away immediately. It couldn't be solved by throwing alcohol at it, nor by merely talking. It was going to stay with him for a very long time – and it deserved to. He had murdered someone. She would have found it far more worrying if he _wasn't_ consumed with guilt over his actions. That he was in turmoil, punishing himself this way, proved that he was not the same man who had so coldly pulled that trigger in the first place. Slowly, the phoenix was rising from the ashes of its own destruction. What it would eventually become was another matter.

"Damar," she said, stepping to his side, not wanting to obstruct his view of the corridor, "there is nobody who can give you what you want—not me, not Garak, not Ziyal herself—nobody who can give you forgiveness, but you. Even if Ziyal could tell you that she forgives you, you would still punish yourself for killing her. That's how a conscience works. Absolution might not come easily. It might never come. Until then, you just have to carry on. Find the strength to keep going. Suffer all of the horrible things that you're feeling. And know that however much you might deserve to be, you're not alone." She reached for his hand, and held it in both of hers for a moment. "I'm ready to listen whenever you're ready to talk. Take as much time as you need."

There was nothing else she could do, so she released his hand and left him. His was not a problem that could be fixed with a few words and a cheerful slap on the shoulder – if indeed his problems ever_ could_ be fixed. But it was looking less and less likely that Cardassia's leader would be able to represent his people at this summit. For once in her life, Gin just didn't know what to do.


	14. Vincit qui se vincit

Restoration

_14. Vincit qui se vincit_

Gin paced in the corridor outside the Cardassian delegation's quarters. A little further away, Amaro did the same thing, albeit with more anger and worry. At the intersection with the main habitat ring corridor, Unaran was keeping look-out whilst Garak worked on over-riding the door controls. Damar had returned to his quarters later that night; Telor had seen him go in. Now the boy was watching on, worry in his eyes and etched across his face. It was morning, the summit would be resuming at any moment, and Damar had locked himself in his room.

"Bajoran security officers!" Unaran hissed, then he returned to the group. Garak quickly stopped working on the panel, and every one of them affected their best nonchalant pose. Gin pretended to be fussing with Telor's shirt collar, and the Bajoran patrol passed by without a second glance.

"This is ridiculous!" Amaro hissed. "The summit is starting. If they think we're not attending they'll start taking concessions!"

"Legate, you and Unaran should go on, and stall them," Garak suggested helpfully. "Tell them... tell them that Damar is still consulting with the rest of the council, and that he'll be along shortly. I'll keep working on the door."

"And what about our good _Ambassador,_" Amaro hissed, with a glance for Gin.

"I'll need her to run interference," Garak said. "If anybody shows up, she can use her high Federation rank to dismiss them, or come up with some excuse for why I'm committing an act of vandalism."

"The _moment_ you get that door open..." Amaro warned, pointing angrily at the door.

"I know. I'll haul the Primarch down to the summit."

Amaro stalked away angrily with Unaran in tow, and Garak waited until they were gone before turning to face Telor.

"Go and wait in your quarters, Telor," he said.

"But I want to help!"

"The best thing you can do now is wait. Do some of the work your father gave you."

"Go on, Telor," she said. "I'll make it up to you tomorrow. I promise."

Sulking, the boy did as she asked, and returned to his quarters. As soon as he did, Garak turned to her.

"I thought it best to get rid of our dear Legate before opening the door," he explained.

"You mean you've been able to open it this whole time?"

"Of course. I lived on this station for almost eight years. I know my way around a simple door lock-out sequence."

"Well, get it open, then!"

"As you command." He entered a series of numbers onto the panel and the door slid open. Garak gave her a look of satisfaction, and together they looked into the room. It was entirely in darkness, only the light of the stars visible through the far windows. And a strong smell assaulted Gin's nose as she stepped closer.

"Uh oh," Garak said, inhaling deeply. "Kanar. He's been drinking. And judging by the smell of it, the replicated stuff. He really _must_ be desperate."

"Garak," she said quietly, "I want you to go to the summit and help stall things."

"Why?"

"Because you need to buy us some time, and I think you're probably the last person Damar wants to see right now."

"Oh? And what makes you say that?"

"I just know," she said. "Please, trust me. I have only Cardassia's best interests at heart. Please, go and stall the summit."

"Alright," he sighed. "But you know that as soon as I show up, Amaro will know that I've opened the door. He might come back here."

"Then lock me in before you go. The door can still be opened easily from the inside, right?"

"I suppose," he said, sounding reluctant. But it wasn't as if he had much choice. "One thing you need to know first, though."

"What is it?"

"Cardassian vision is better than Human vision, in the dark."

"I'll keep that in mind."

She stepped into the room, and as she moved out of the door's sensor range, it closed behind her. Automatically, her pupils dilated, trying to make use of every available scrap of light. She felt goosebumps pepper her skin as nerve impulses made the hairs on her body stand on end. She switched to breathing through her mouth, to try to ignore the overwhelmingly sweet-spicy scent of kanar and, very carefully so that she didn't trip over anything, inched her way forward.

Nothing could be heard, and for almost a full minute she held her breath, just in case the sound of her own breathing was drowning out anything else. Where was Damar? Why hadn't he responded to their door calls? Was he in the bedroom, asleep or passed out? Was he lying on the floor somewhere around here, with an empty bottle of replicated kanar in his hand? Or had he truly gone too far and, unable to live with the pain of his own conscience, drunk himself to death? It would be a tragedy if the hero of Cardassia had survived the rebellion on his planet, only to die here, when his people needed him most.

"Lights," she said. Nothing happened.

"Don't bother," came Damar's voice, from somewhere across the room to her right. "I disabled them."

She took a few steps towards the direction of his voice, and stopped when she promptly bumped into a table, hurting her shin.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I see more clearly, in the dark." This time the voice was off to the left. "It's where I belong. In the dark, with the dead."

His words were not slurred, but she got the impression that he'd had more than enough to drink. She moved forwards slowly and to the left, but after two paces almost fell onto the sofa. She'd never realised, before, how menacing it was to be in darkness, knowing that something could see you but you couldn't see it. There was a vulnerability to the situation which she'd never felt before, and it made her feel cold inside.

"Does it amuse you?" she asked. "To see me stumbling around in the dark?"

"It does, rather," he said. His voice was off to the right again, now. Either he was moving around silently and with ease despite his inebriated state, or he was doing a very good job at throwing his voice. "Don't think yourself unique, though. In this room, everybody stumbles around in the dark."

He was moving around the room behind her, she realised. Otherwise, she would have seen an interruption in the dim light of the twinkling stars. If she could get to the window without breaking her neck, and put her back to those stars, he wouldn't be able to sneak up behind her. So, trying to memorise the layout of the room from what little she'd seen of it—and cursing herself for not having memory as good as that of a Cardassian—she inched her way forwards, reaching out with her foot for obstacles, trying to protect her shins. She managed to negotiate most of the furniture, though she suspected one particularly loud shattering crash indicated she'd just broken something decorative. Finally, when she reached the window, she leant back against it, and took a deep breath, facing the darkness of the room.

"Damar, I want to help you," she said.

"Of course you do." His voice was closer, now, though she still couldn't make out his form. "How good it would make you feel, how much it would vindicate your existence, to be able to help the down-trodden Cardassian people."

Her eyes began to adjust to the darkness. Now, not everything was black. Some things were dark black, and others just very, very dark grey. The light of the stars, so dim, managed to provide just enough light for her to distinguish between shapes that moved and shapes that didn't, and Damar surprised her when he next moved; he was closer than she'd suspected.

"I'm not talking about the Cardassian people right now. I'm talking about you. About what you're going through."

"And that's what you don't get. I don't _deserve_ your help."

"I think you do," she countered.

A shape loomed before her in the darkness, and she was able to make out the vague shape of the Cardassian man. The light of the stars were mere pinpricks in the reflective black pupils of his eyes, and she could smell the spicy scent of kanar on his breath. His proximity, the threat that she felt in the obscureness of the dark, triggered her reflexes, but she stopped herself from lashing out defensively.

"Did you know," he said, "that if the Dominion hadn't forced me to sign away our territory to the Breen, hadn't forced me to report to Thot Gor, hadn't allowed millions of Cardassian soldiers to die in vain... if that Vorta had shown me even the tiniest bit of respect, I wouldn't be here now? I would have had nothing to complain about. Nothing to rebel against. Cardassia would still be part of the Dominion. Maybe we'd have won the war. Maybe we would have taken our victory to Earth." She felt, more than saw, him pick up a lock of her long hair from her shoulder. "Earth could be in ruin, now. I might be stood on Earth laughing at the easiness of victory. Laughing over your dead body."

She listened in silence. She hadn't realised that his guilt and self-destructive attitude had gone so far. This went beyond Ziyal's death, beyond the deaths of 800 million Cardassians... it went to his feelings about every part of his existence.

"I'm told by people far more intelligent than I am," he continued, "that there are limitless numbers of realities. That a reality exists for every possible scenario imaginable. Somewhere, in one of those galaxies, in one of those realities that we can only _imagine_, there's a you who didn't lose her baby. There's a you who's still married to her husband, living a happy life on Earth. And somewhere there's a me who didn't betray the Dominion. There's a me who brought our fleets to Earth and subjugated the entire population. You, your husband, your child... you'd be in an internment camp, now. It would be like Bajor all over again. And all those people out there, those admirals and ambassadors and the starship captains who invite me for dinner, they look at me and think I'm a hero. They don't know that somewhere else, I'm destroying their lives, and they're cursing the day they ever heard the name 'Damar.' What do you think of that?"

"I think that somewhere," she said, "a world exists in which the wormhole has never been discovered. Nobody has ever heard of the Founders or the Dominion. The Klingons never invaded Cardassia, and your leaders had no reason to sign away their territory to another power. I think that somewhere, in one of those realities, your wife and son are still alive, and you're with them now, and happy. And maybe I'm with my family, and happy too. But that reality isn't _this_ reality. By all means, punish yourself for what you are and what you've done. But don't punish yourself for what you're not and what you didn't do. Because out there, somewhere, you're already being punished for that. And one life-time of punishment is enough." He was silent, and she sensed he was considering her words, so she decided to push the message home. "There is a saying, in one of our ancient Earth languages: vincit qui se vincit. It means 'He conquers, who conquers himself'. What would the Klingons say, if they could see you now? Or the Romulans? Or... the Breen? They'd know that they'd been victorious in destroying Cardassia's fighting spirit."

"They didn't just destroy its fighting spirit, they destroyed a large portion of its infrastructure," Damar said angrily.

"That's right, they did," she said, getting an idea and rolling with it. "And now it's time for them to pay. Handing back the territory they took from you is only one of the reparations... they also owe you a massive financial package. With that money, you can help to feed and clothe your citizens, rebuild your infrastructure, and your military. But their reparations will only be enforced by the Federation Alliance if _you_ agree to pay your necessary reparations as well."

"I should just take what's left of the Cardassian fleet and destroy every military installation in Breen space."

"Well, that's one way of doing it," she said hesitantly. "But your actions would earn the distrust and hatred of every Alpha Quadrant species. I know, it isn't fair, it would be vengeance, but still, it's what would happen if you try to provoke further conflict. Simply speaking, you don't have the resources to launch an attack on anything. Listen to your head, rather than your heart. Do the smart thing, rather than what makes you feel good. Will you come with me to the summit, and sign the agreement?"

"I don't think that's such a good idea," he said.

"Why not?"

"Because I've had a lot to drink and I'm about half an hour away from an enormous hang-over."

"Then that can be your punishment, too. You can sit through the rest of the summit feeling rough and feeling sorry for yourself. But at least you'll be there. At least you'll be showing the other powers that you're strong."

"I... I suppose I could do that much," he admitted.

"Good," she smiled, then offered her hand. "Now, please lead me to the door. If I have to navigate this room again I'll end up breaking my neck."

He took her hand and led her towards the door. Once there, he released her hand and tapped something into the door access panel, and the door opened with a quiet _swish_. Light from the corridor spilled into the room, cold and painful. Gin winced, but Damar actually closed his eyes and tried to shield them with his hand. He'd been sitting in the dark far longer than she.

Stepping into the corridor, she turned back to look at him. He looked too pale for a Cardassian, his skin a lighter shade of grey than it should have been, and he clearly hadn't slept. His deep-set eyes were dark in the sockets, and the whites of his eyes were pink verging on red. He was still wearing the same clothes as the day before—which, technically, Gin was too, but at least she'd put hers through the steriliser after removing the dress the night before, and hadn't not-slept in it—which were also slightly wrinkled. The Cardassians would have a _lot_ of damage-control to do for this.

"Are you coming?" she asked, after giving his eyes a moment to adapt to the light.

"You know," he said, stepping out into the light, "half of me regrets bringing you along to this summit. And the other half of me worries what I'd do if you weren't here."

"Probably best not to dwell on either event," she said.

"Probably." He glanced at the corridor. "You realise you're going to have to lead the way, don't you? I can't remember a damn thing."

o - o - o - o - o

The engine of the transport shuttle hummed gently, a soothing sound that made Gin feel incredibly tired. The past two days had been quite busy and eventful, and she was beginning to crave an early night in bed. The previous day, after she'd roused Damar and escorted him to the summit meeting, she'd spent the rest of the day in that meeting herself. Damar had agreed to the reparations despite Amaro's protests. The Breen had been on the verge of walking out, but they finally seemed to realise they were caught between a rock and a hard place. If they didn't capitulate, the Federation would have sanctioned an embargo on Breen territory, crippling what little trade they actually partook in, as well as monitoring and searching every Breen ship going into and out of their space. The Romulans and the Klingons, far less benevolent than the Federation, were both willing to invade Breen space, annexe all Breen territory and install battalions of soldiers to keep order, to ensure that the Breen would never again come out in force.

"I noticed a lot of Bajoran men looking at you," Telor pointed out, recalling her mind to the present.

They were seated in the transport shuttle's main passenger area, along with two dozen other people travelling from Bajor to the space station. Much to the Cardassians' surprise, she'd announced earlier that morning that she wasn't going to be attending the third day of the summit – the day that had been given to open discussion in the hopes of people forming trade and friendship agreements. She told them it was a matter of Cardassian Foreign Affairs, and that she would be of no use to them during any such discussions or negotiations. Instead, she announced that she was taking Telor for a tour of Bajor; seeing the planet was all he'd been talking about since he'd first learnt that Gin was going to the summit, and he was overjoyed at her suggestion.

Amaro, naturally, objected very loudly, claiming it wouldn't be fair to subject the boy to Bajoran hatred on the planet's surface. It would only further corrupt him—if indeed he could be corrupted beyond what associating so closely with the Federation ambassador had already done to him—and offend Cardassian interests. What those interests were he couldn't exactly elaborate on, so Damar had given both Gin and Telor permission to go to Bajor, not that they'd needed his permission of course, and they'd enjoyed a day of sight-seeing and immersed themselves in the history and culture of the beautiful planet. It was like a wilder, more ancient version of Earth.

"No more than they were looking at anybody else, I'm sure," she said, smoothing the skirt of the intricate Cardassian 'nimboral taran' dress over her legs.

"They were. And a lot of men on the promenade were looking at you too, the night before last."

"If you ask me, you notice _far_ too much," she sniffed, though not unhappily. She rather enjoyed the impact she made in her dress, though she wouldn't wear it again for a long time after this.

"I've also noticed that Minister Unaran watches you a lot," he mused. "But I don't like the way he looks at you."

"And how does he look at me?" she asked, surprised that he'd picked up on that particular undercurrent.

"I don't know. The only comparison I can think of is that once when we were younger, my friend Kaskar and I were playing in the basement of his house. We found one of his father's old weapons left over from the Occupation... it was so shiny and big. And Kaskar wanted it _so_ badly, he had this look on his face and in his eyes, just like the look Unaran gets whenever he watches you."

"What did you think of Bajor?" she asked, changing the subject. So far, she had no idea how much Rokann had told his son about 'the facts of life,' but it wasn't a talk she was willing to have with somebody else's child.

"It was really nice," he grinned. "I thought it would be a lot colder, but it wasn't, really. Just a little chilly at times. And the buildings were so lovely, all carved out of stone. Do you think maybe one day, Cardassia will look like that?"

"I don't know... you've got completely different architectural styles. But Cardassia's being rebuilt, so who knows what will come of it?"

When Telor asked no more question, Gin turned her mind back to the previous day. After the agreements for reparations had been signed by the Cardassians and the Breen, talk had turned to further exploration of the Gamma Quadrant. Apparently the Dominion were now not considered a threat, but every effort would be made to avoid Dominion territory in future. As such, Gamma Quadrant exploration was becoming a much more strictly controlled affair, and the Federation and the Klingons—with the Romulans reluctantly agreeing but grumbling about it all the way—wanted to make it a joint venture. Part of a new friendship treaty between the Klingons and Bajor meant that Deep Space Nine would become a permanent base of operations for Gamma Quadrant exploration. All ships going into and coming out of the wormhole would need to check in and out with the new Gamma Quadrant Command, which was being administrated by the Bajorans. A permanent Klingon defence force would patrol the Alpha Quadrant entrance to the wormhole, with DS9 as their base of operations, and Klingon scout ships would also maintain an ongoing presence at the Gamma Quadrant side of the wormhole, to give advanced warning of potential further incursion. Martok had assured the Bajorans that it was only his most diplomatic commanders who would be stationed on the Gamma Quadrant side, in case of first-contact situations with passing ships.

At the Federation's request, the offer to take part in the new Gamma Quadrant Command was being extended to all major powers and smaller exploratory races in the Alpha Quadrant, giving them the opportunity to station a liaison officer and small science team at the command centre. The Romulans had already agreed, as had the Vulcans, the Ktarians, the Ferengi and the Trill. Damar advised that he would speak with his Minister for Science & Technology when he returned to Cardassia, but that he didn't see any problems with that arrangement. The Breen said they would consider it, but were not committing to anything at the moment.

The next item on the agenda pertained to maintaining a large-scale defensive presence that could see five-hundred ships marshalled within one day, to mount a defensive front. The fleet would be made up of Federation, Klingon, Romulan, Ferengi and, hopefully, Cardassian ships. The need for the first three to be given "reparations" in the form of Cardassian territorial concessions suddenly became clear to Gin. They wanted somewhere to built up their fleets as a base of power, to launch a defensive line from if required. Again, it was a request that Damar agreed to – on the condition that the one-hundred Cardassian ships to be made available for immediate defence duty did not count towards their total fleet size quota. After some discussion, his terms were accepted by all present, which turned out to be a small victory for Cardassia.

After the meeting, she'd left the men in Damar's quarters to their discussions about the success of the summit and opted to spend some time with Telor. Together they'd gone back to the promenade and had dinner in one of the Bajoran restaurants. That's when they'd hatched out their plan to visit Bajor.

"Look, there's the station!" Telor said, pointing out of his window. Gin, who had an aisle seat, had to lean across to see properly. And sure enough, there was the station, hanging in space like some giant golden six-legged clawed spider, whilst half a dozen ships orbited around it, and another half-dozen were at dock. "I can see the Ronak, too," he added, pointing towards the Cardassian ship at one of the upper docking pylons. "It's a shame we have to leave tomorrow, there's so much more I'd like to see of the station, and of Bajor."

"I'm sure there'll be plenty of opportunity to come back in the future," she assured him. "Cardassia's only a couple of days' journey away. It's not as if it's as far away as Earth. Anyway, since this is our last night on the station, where would you like to eat?"

"What about that Ferengi bar?" he asked. "I heard some of the Starfleet officers saying the food's good there."

"Alright," she agreed amiably.

When the shuttle had finished docking and the passengers were allowed to disembark, Gin and Telor left the small vessel and made their way to the promenade. Telor and his good memory led her unerringly towards Quark's bar, which seemed much quieter today. The proprietor himself was standing behind the bar cleaning glasses, and his eyes lit up when he saw Gin enter.

"Welcome back, Ambassador," he said. "You know, I _thought_ I felt my lobes tingling at your approach. Have you come for that crate of brandy?"

"Not right now," she smiled, and placed a hand on the Cardassian boy's shoulder. "Telor and I are here to dine. We'd like a table please. As for your 'no children' policy... I offer you diplomatic immunity from any repercussions. Does that help?"

"I suppose it does," he said. "Just remember to tell that to Colonel Kira, when she comes in here to shout at me for it."

"Will do."

He came around the bar and led them up a spiral staircase to the second floor of the establishment, where several tables overlooked the main floor. The table he seated them at had four chairs around it, but since only one other table had occupants—a Bajoran couple who were gazing adoringly into each others' eyes—it seemed Quark didn't mind giving them a larger table than they required.

"The best seats in the house," he said. "Now, what can I get you? No, wait, let me guess... something with yamok sauce?"

"I'd like ramufta, with a side helping of hasperat," Telor said.

"Oh? You like Bajoran food?"

"I like lots of different foods," he said solemnly.

"How very open-minded of you," Quark replied. "And for you, Ambassador?"

"Veklava, please. And a glass of orange juice."

"I'll have orange juice as well!" Telor added.

"Alright," Quark said. "I'll be back shortly." He gave Gin a leering smile, then disappeared.

"What's that game?" Telor asked, peering over the railing at some of the tables with patrons around them. Each table also had one of the scantily-clad women standing at the front of it.

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe you should ask Quark."

And so he did. When the Ferengi barkeep returned with their food and drinks, he asked what the game was called, and how it was played.

"It's called dabo, and it's a very simple game to play. That is, if you're over eighteen years old. If you're not, then it's just a pretty set of flashing lights and spinning wheels." He placed their dishes on the table in front of them. "So... have you two just left the summit? Overheard anything that might be... profitable to an honest trader such as myself?"

"Actually," Gin replied, "we've just got back from Bajor."

"Oh. Well... how nice. I'm sure it was very beautiful and spiritual etc etc."

"Have you any idea when the summit's supposed to end?" she asked. It would be interesting to see what came out of it.

Quark shrugged. "I hear it will go on for as long as people have things to discuss. Though the Romulans have already left. Two hours ago, actually. They mustn't have had very much to talk about. Well, you two enjoy your meal. Let me know if there's anything else you need."

"I didn't know Ferengi were so... short," Telor said, watching the large-eared man walk away.

"They may be short," she said, making a start on her veklava, "but don't underestimate them. They're cunning and ruthless. They may not be a major military power, but they're definitely an economic one. Maybe the biggest one in the entire quadrant."

"Why didn't they help during the war?"

"Officially, they were a neutral entity," she explained. "They knew that the Dominion had bigger fish to tackle. But the Grand Nagus knew that an Alpha Quadrant ruled by the Dominion would not be good for long-term business. Many Ferengi businessmen sold cheap weapons and parts to the Alliance, and helped out financially where they could. Their starships aren't really built for large-scale combat. They're too lightly armoured and don't carry as many weapons as, say, Federation or Klingon ships. Combat was not their expertise, so it's not what they offered. And sometimes, you've just gotta take whatever help you can."

He didn't ask any more questions as he ate his ramufta and hasparat, and she knew that a lot of deep thoughts must be going through his head. He always got quieter when he was thinking deeply. And indeed, once he'd finished eating and put down his knife and form, he looked up at her thoughtfully.

"Ten million Bajorans were killed during forty years of Cardassian occupation of Bajor," he said. Gin nodded. One of the guided tours they'd attended on Bajor had spoken of the massive destruction left behind by the Cardassians. The invaders had strip-mined the planet using Bajorans in forced-labour camps. They'd plundered the planet for its natural resources, and only retreated once pressure from the civilian government mounted and the occupation became economically unfeasible to maintain. "And they rebuilt their civilisation in seven years."

"Well, it's not totally rebuilt yet. There's still work to be done."

"In two years of Dominion rule, nearly a billion Cardassians have died. Eight-hundred million in just one hour. The rest fighting before, or dying from disease after. We're not going to be able to rebuild Cardassia in seven years, are we?"

"I doubt it," she said gently. What else could she say? He'd just realised exactly how much his world, his life, had changed. Even after he'd seen the devastation in Lakat city, he'd thought that it could just be rebuilt. It had taken seeing another world to make him realise how much had been lost from his own.

"Look, there's Primarch Damar and the ministers," he said, his eyes peering down over the balcony railing.

Gin looked over and saw that he was right; the Cardassian men must have finished their third day at the summit. From her vantage point, she could see them all but not hear them. Quark greeted Damar with open arms, but was met with slightly less enthusiasm. Then the three ministers ordered a drink, whilst Damar looked around, his eyes scanning the dabo tables and lingering on the dabo girls. _Men!_ Wherever you went, they were all the same.

Three drinks were poured and one of the men must have asked Quark something, because the Ferengi pointed up to where Gin and Telor were sitting. When the Cardassians looked up, Gin waved briefly. Telor seemed to barely notice.

"Do you think the Primarch's head is okay?" he asked. "He hasn't complained about it once. I feel like there wasn't any point in me coming along."

"You should take that as a good sign, rather than something to be sad about."

"I suppose," he said, a bit despondently.

She didn't get chance to question him further because the four Cardassian men climbed the stairs and approached their table. The three ministers all had drinks, but Damar was empty handed.

"How was the trip to _Bajor_?" Amaro sneered, looking down at the seated pair.

"Very informative," Gin replied, whilst Telor scowled at Amaro. "The planet is very beautiful, with some breath-taking architecture."

"Do you mind if we join you, Ambassador?" Garak asked, holding up his drink.

Sensing that Telor was not in the mood for being social, Gin stood and stepped back from the chair. "Please, have the table. I'm quite tired from the trip, I think I'll get changed into something more comfortable, read for a little while, and have an early night. Telor, are you returning to your quarters too?" she asked. "I know you've still got homework to do."

He nodded and joined her.

"I'll walk the two of you back," Damar said. "I have some reports to write for when we return to Cardassia, and a new agenda to write for the council's next meeting." He raised his hand as Amaro opened his mouth. "You three sit. Stay for a while and relax. You've earned your drinks tonight, my friends."

Before any of them could object, Damar turned and descended the staircase. Gin nudged Telor after him, and then followed herself without glancing back. Telor must have been even more unhappy than Gin had first thought, because instead of staying close to Damar as he normally would have done, he went on a little ahead and walked down the promenade by himself. Damar kept part of his attention on the boy, even when he was looking around at the shops and stalls along the communal paths, trying to ignore the curious and suspicious glances of the Bajorans who caught sight of him.

"How did the talks at the summit go?" she asked.

"Quite well, I think," he replied. "I left most of it to Unaran, since he's our Minister for Foreign Affairs and Diplomacy. Though I think I probably should have brought Prelat Hadaran along too... he might have been useful. Unaran's doing the best he can, but he was never a true diplomat. Agents of the Obsidian Order are suspicious by nature, and that doesn't change when they become ex-agents. "

"And you managed to avoid any major diplomatic incidents, I take it?"

"I think I managed to keep from offending anybody too important. This diplomacy thing isn't too difficult," he said. "I've learnt that most of it is just about keeping your mouth shut. Something I fear Amaro may never learn. I'd ask you to try and teach him, but that would just be cruel."

"And inhumane," she added with a smile.

When they reached their quarters, Telor went straight into his room without saying goodnight to either of them. Damar raised one scaled eyebrow at the boy's back, and he turned to her once the door was closed.

"What's gotten into him? Was he mistreated on Bajor?"

"Do you honestly think I'd let anybody mistreat him?"

"I suppose not," he relented, running his eyes briefly over her. "You can be... formidable, when you want. But if he wasn't mistreated, why's he in such a sullen mood?"

"He's just realised exactly how far Cardassia has yet to go before it regains all that it lost. He might look like a boy to you, but his mind is closer to a man's, I think."

"Ahh," he said, flashing another glance at the door. Then he gestured to the door of Gin's quarters. "Can we talk in private?"

"Of course." She opened the door and stepped inside, and he followed. Her room was much the same as his, only it looked out into a different section of space and had slightly different paintings on its walls. Before he could speak, however, she thought of something, and turned to face him. "How's your head feeling, Primarch?"

"It's fine," he said. "And yes, before you ask, I've been eating."

"I wasn't going to," she assured him. "But Telor is feeling a little... left out. Like there wasn't much point in him coming here, because he hasn't been needed. Perhaps if you were to have a small headache tomorrow morning, something that requires only a mild painkiller... it would make him feel more useful."

"I'll see what I can do," he replied, his blue eyes regarding her thoughtfully. "And on the subject of tomorrow, our return journey is going to be delayed by a few hours."

"Oh?"

"You'll be pleased to know that I spoke with Grand Nagus Rom about the possibility of hiring a Ferengi advisor." He grunted. "Rom said he was happy to help Cardassia. It just so happens that he brought several advisors with him to the station from Ferenginar, and he's promised us one on a trial basis. This advisor will work for us for six months, without payment. If we want to continue using his services after that, there will be a charge."

"A Ferengi is going to work for _free_ for _six months_?" she asked in disbelief.

"Now you understand my skepticism. What sort of a man are we going to be getting, for that price? Possibly somebody with little financial expertise. This could all be an elaborate ploy to plunge our economy even further into ruin."

"You you sound like Amaro," she said, suppressing a grin. "I think you spend too much time with him."

"And he'd be the first one to point out the irony in that statement. Anyway, Grand Nagus Rom has asked that you be present when he introduces his financial advisor to me."

"Me? Why?"

"I don't know why. But it's what he's asked for and if that's all he wants, he's going to get it. You and I will meet this advisor outside the Ferengi ship airlock at thirteen-hundred hours tomorrow."

"As you wish, Primarch. I'll be ready when you are."

"Good. Now, turn around."

"I... beg your pardon?"

"Turn around. It's not that difficult to understand, is it?"

Still confused but unable to offer any objections why she shouldn't do as he asked, she turned on the spot and waited. A moment later her whole body tensed when his fingers brushed against her neck as he gathered her hair up and moved it to one side. At first she didn't know what he was doing, she merely felt his hands plucking at the collar of her dress. Then, when she realised he was unbuttoning it, from the top down, a flush of warmth and embarrassment suffused her cheeks. What was he doing? Why was he unbuttoning her dress? She should be outraged, tell him to stop. But did she want him to? Of course she did. He was probably going through one of his less sane phases. Who knew what inappropriate suggestions he might make if she didn't discourage him?

As his fingers worked lower and lower, occasionally brushing the bare skin of her back, she tried to think of the best way to ask him to stop. _'Please stop that...' 'I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't do that...' 'Just what do you think you're doing..?' 'I think you've mistaken my intentions...' 'I'm sure this is all just a cultural misunderstanding...'_

"Despite what you may believe," he said, whilst her foolish mind was still trying to come up with the most diplomatic way of saying 'no' to the leader of Cardassia, "it is not appropriate for you to have a boy help you dress and undress. And despite what you think is going on inside his head, he _is_ still a boy, Ambassador. Remember that."

When he reached the lowest button, he offered her no other words, but she heard the door to her quarters open and then close again. Still, it was a good count to fifty in her head before she dared to turn around to make sure he really was gone. Then she mentally kicked herself. She'd taken too long to object to his actions. He probably thought she'd enjoyed having him unbutton her dress. But was it really so bad if he thought that? Yes, of course it was! He was the leader of Cardassia, he'd recently lost his family, and he wasn't always bringing a full basket to the picnic. What would she have done if he hadn't stopped? She would have told him to eventually, of course. But at what point? How far would she have let him go before pulling away?

It was a worrying concept, that she didn't know herself as well as she had first thought. _Vincit qui se vincit_ she'd told him, and yet now the tables were turned. Clearly she would have to exercise a little more caution around him in future. The last thing she needed was to complicate the otherwise comfortable working relationship she'd managed to form with the Primarch of Cardassia.

* * *

_Author's Note: A big thank you to all who've read and reviewed so far, and in particular to the non-FF-member reviewers whom I can't respond to directly. I hope you're all still enjoying the story, and that the upcoming plot-twists will prove entertaining. :)_


	15. The leaving of Bajor

Restoration

_15. The leaving of Bajor_

Gin spent the majority of her time the following morning submitting her reports to the Federation council regarding the outcome of the summit. Though they undoubtedly had already been informed by T'Lona and the other Ambassadors, she wanted to put events into her own words, to describe how difficult it was for Damar to agree to the treaty, and that it clearly showed—in her humble opinion—that the Cardassians were willing to make substantial changes to their lives and accept a more peaceful role on the galactic stage.

When Telor did not call for her as he normally did, she surmised that Damar was taking her advice to heart, and hopefully making the boy feel a little more useful. As much as she wanted to help cheer Telor up, she admittedly had little experience in dealing with teenage boys. This was probably something that needed a man's touch, and she got the feeling that Rokann was so busy at times that Telor didn't get all the attention that he needed. Not that Rokann was negligent in any way—he was a wonderful father to Telor—it was simply that the boy was so wise for his age, and self-sufficient, that he needed very little supervision.

After eating a replicated lunch of vegetable lasagna, she left her quarters and pushed the door chime to Damar's room. When he opened the door, he glanced over her once without comment—she'd specifically _not_ worn the dress, opting instead for dark blue trousers, black boots and a tailored black jacket which cinched at the waist—and stepped out into the corridor.

"Is Telor here?" she asked. "I haven't seen him all morning."

"He _was_ here," Damar replied, setting off down the corridor. She increased her pace to keep up with his longer stride. "Amaro said he was going to look for a gift to take back to his wife, and I suggested that Telor might like to take something back to his father. Garak went with them, to... 'supervise.'"

"And Unaran?"

"In his quarters, finishing off some work." He glanced down at her briefly. "He likes you."

"I'd noticed," she said stiffly. How could he think she _hadn't_ noticed?

"And what do you intend to do about it?"

"Avoid him as best I can and treat him with professional politeness when we have to meet."

"Why? Don't you like him?"

"I neither like nor dislike him. He's just... not my type."

"Not Human enough for you?"

"What?" she frowned. "No, I'm not biased against non-Humans... I wouldn't be an Ambassador if I was. I just don't feel comfortable around him. I don't trust his motives, and even if I _didn't_ know that he's a former member of the Obsidian Order, his demeanour would still put me on edge. Why are we even talking about this? Did he put you up to it? Ask you to find out what I think about him?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed. "I have better things to do than act as a go-between for two people whose feelings are none of my concern. But as the leader of Cardassia I have to be aware of problems before they can arise, and maintain the good will of Cardassia's friends and allies. I'd rather avoid the diplomatic fall-out of you putting Unaran into a choke-hold if he goes too far. That's why I asked your intentions."

"If it helps, I promise I won't put Unaran into a choke-hold if he goes too far," she said.

"Glad to hear it."

"I'll probably just drop-kick him."

He subjected her to a skeptic glance but didn't get chance to reply. As they approached the Ferengi docking area, the airlock door opened and two Ferengi stepped out. The taller of the two was obviously Grand Nagus Rom – it was evident by the gold-topped Ferengi-head staff he carried, as well as his extravagant robes of office. The Ferengi next to him was shorter, with much smaller ears, carried a backpack over his back and was wearing... a dress?

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Grand Nagus Rom," Gin said, offering the taller alien a deep bow.

"Thank you for agreeing to be here, Ambassador Fox," the Nagus said. "I'd like to introduce both you and Legate Damar to my best financial advisor; Nilka!"

"An honour to serve you, Legate," Nilka said, fluttering her lashes demurely. Gin had to bite her lower lip to keep herself from laughing at the expression on the Cardassian leader's face.

"Your best financial advisor is a _female_?" Damar asked.

"That's right," Grand Nagus Rom said happily. "She's great at keeping Liquidator Brunt off my back."

"Isn't it against your customs for a female to engage in business? Or wear clothes? Or leave Ferenginar?"

"The old customs, yes. But we've got a lot of new customs on Ferenginar now." The Nagus turned to Gin. "That's why I asked for you to be here, Ambassador. Nilka is a very capable female, but she's used to dealing with Ferengi men, who simply want her to take off her clothes and pre-chew their food in silence until they're ready to have children. I'm afraid that non-Ferengi might be a little more complicated to understand. I'd like you to keep an eye on her, look after her, and help her to understand Cardassian laws and customs."

"Of course, Grand Nagus," Gin replied, with a smile for Nilka. "She can stay at the Federation embassy with me, if she likes. It's one of the few intact and safe buildings within the city, and she'll have me for company when she's not working."

"Oh, thank you! It makes me much happier knowing that you'll be looking out for her."

"I can assure you," Damar said flatly, "that Nilka will be as safe on Cardassia as she would be on Ferenginar. Safer, even."

"I certainly hope so!" He turned to Nilka. "Now, I have to be getting back to Ferenginar. We'll keep in touch and you can let me know all about your journey and what it's like on Cardassia. I know you'll make us all proud! Just remember that Ambassador Fox will be there to help you if you have any problems."

"Of course, Nagus," Nilka replied, in a tone of eternal patience.

"Well, goodbye Legate, Ambassador. I hope your trip back to Cardassia is a safe one."

"It's been an honour, Nagus," Gin said, offering another low bow.

"Likewise, Grand Nagus," said Damar.

All three of them watched Rom turn and step back through the airlock, and the door closed after him. He turned around and waved happily at them, then turned back and entered his ship. When Gin glanced at Damar, to try to judge his feelings about the whole situation, she found him watching her suspiciously.

"What?" she asked.

"Don't you think the bowing was a bit over the top?"

"He's a head of state," she pointed out.

"I'm a head of state, and you never bow to me."

"If it helps, I could bow to you," Nilka offered hopefully.

Gin didn't hear Damar sigh, but she knew he definitely wanted to. Instead, he gestured at the corridor.

"Should we return to our own quarters and finish packing so we can leave?"

"It's common politeness to offer to carry a lady's bag," Gin pointed out.

This time he _did_ sigh, but he turned to Nilka nontheless. "Please may I take your bag, Minister?" he asked.

"Why thank you, how kind of you to offer!"

The short Ferengi woman handed over her bag, which Damar almost dropped. After hefting it two or three times, he gave her an incredulous look.

"This thing feels as heavy as bricks. Just what's inside it?"

"Latinum, mostly," Nilka said.

"You brought a bag full of _latinum_?"

"Rule of Acquisition number ninety-seven;_ If you can't take it with you, don't go._"

"Nilka," Gin said, setting off slowly down the corridor and gesturing for the Ferengi to join her, "whose idea was it to send you to Cardassia? Did you get a choice in it?"

"Of course I got a choice! I volunteered to go."

"But... why? You're essentially working for free for six months."

"I know that," Nilka said patiently, "but despite the Nagus' claims, not everything has changed on Ferenginar. As the one-hundred and twenty-ninth Rule of Acquisition states: _You can change ideas into latinum, but changing minds is much harder._ A woman can work, but she isn't always taken seriously. This is my chance to show Ferengi males that we females can work just as hard, and do just as good a job as they can."

"You're using my peoples' suffering as a _proving ground_?" Damar asked.

Nilka stopped, and looked the Primarch over for a moment. "If you prefer," she said calmly, "I can go back to the Ferengi ship and resume my prestigious role as advisor to our world's leader." To Gin, it seemed that the tension between the two was almost palpable. "The chance to prove myself is not the only reason that I'm here," the short, large-lobed woman continued. "Do you know how many Ferengi _males_ volunteered to serve you without pay for six months? I'll give you a clue; none of them. What would you prefer; To pay an extortionate fee to a person who has no interest in seeing you succeed? Or to give the chance to a person who will make your success their own, to prove that it can be done?"

"Primarch," Gin said, stepping between the two and catching Damar's cold blue eyes, "it seems to me that what you have here is a blessing in disguise. Nilka will, I am sure, work very hard to help your people, and in return she asks nothing but respect. She has been honest with you, in telling you her agenda, and you know that she has no hidden motives. Though her reasoning may not be entirely altruistic, I'm sure you will not find anyone more capable of serving you in the matter of finances."

For a moment, Damar was silent, considering her words. Then he turned to address Nilka.

"I appreciate your assistance," he said. "If there is anything you need to make your task easier, please let me know."

"Unrestricted access to your government's finances for the past ten years," Nilka said immediately. "A safe and secure console to work at. An office within your government's headquarters, and all the tube-grubs you can import."

"Those things will of course be provided to you once we reach Cardassia," Damar said. Then he held the Ferengi's bag out to Gin, who accepted it. "Ambassador, as Grand Nagus Rom has requested that you assist Minister Nilka in... acclimatising to Cardassian customs, please escort her to the Ronak and see her settled on board. I have something to do before we leave."

"As you wish, Primarch," she said demurely, giving him a low bow. He merely scowled and walked off down another corridor.

"Hmm," Nilka said thoughtfully, her eyes watching the retreating Primarch until he was out of sight. "I thought he'd be a bit taller."

"Minister," Gin said, setting off once more along the corridor to the Ronak, "is this your first time off-world?"

"Yes," Nilka confirmed, following. Her bald, smooth head came to the height of Gin's shoulder. "I must admit, I wasn't expecting to be gone for so long, but such is the nature of the Great Material Continuum. The needs of Cardassia turned out to be greater than the needs of the Nagus."

"Do you have any family back on Ferenginar, who will miss your extended absence? A husband? Children?"

"No, nothing like that. I've been married three times, but have no children."

"Three times?" She'd thought her single time was bad enough.

Nilka seemed not to notice Gin's surprise, and she elaborated. "My first marriage was a standard five year contract, but after I didn't produce any children, my husband decided not to renew the contract and gave me back to my father. My second husband was an off-world trader, and I was left to run his home whilst he was away doing business."

"I take it that marriage ended the same way?"

"No. He was a shrewd business man, but a terrible judge of character. He went into business with an unscrupulous Klingon from the House of Duras, and was killed as punishment when one of their ventures fell through." Nilka shook her head at the memory. "Poor foolish man."

"And your third husband?"

"Died in a mysterious shuttle explosion. I think he was killed by a rival Ferengi."

"Wow. I'm sorry for your losses," Gin said.

Nilka shrugged nonchalantly. "It happens."

"Did you love your husbands?"

"Love?" The Ferengi woman gave her a skeptical glance. "Love is what mothers have for their sons. When we grow old and need to be taken care of, it is our sons who provide for us, not our husbands."

"Then the women amongst your people are only capable of maternal love?" she asked, confused.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I've heard of women who love their husbands, and even a husband or two who's loved his wife. But we don't place as much value on love as other races do. You can't buy it, after all."

"I suppose not," she said. And it was true. Love was the one thing you couldn't buy. It had to grow and develop on its own.

"What about you?" Nilka asked. "Is there a Mister Ambassador Fox waiting for you back home?"

"No," she replied, casting her mind back to Adrian. Was he still on Cardassia, now? What had Damar done to him, to make him disappear so thoroughly? Would he be ready to continue his harassment of her? "I was married once, but it didn't work out. I have no children, but my family live on Earth. We're traders."

"Hmm... Fox. Fox... yes, that name _does_ ring a bell, now," Nilka said happily. "I remember that my third husband did some business with the Fox family of Earth, a few years back. Control chips for processors used in automated dilithium mining, I think it was."

"That was my father," Gin smiled. "I remember it well. It was a very lucrative deal for both parties."

Before Nilka could reply, they rounded a corner which led to the Ronak's airlock, and found Unaran standing outside. As soon as he saw Gin his eyes lit up with an eager flame, and he stood a little straighter. He didn't even glance down at Nilka as the two women approached.

"Ah, there you are Ambassdor," he purred. "I was hoping that we'd get chance to talk on the way back to Cardassia, about diplomatic affairs. Our meeting, I think, is long overdue."

"It might be best if we waited until we returned to Cardassia, Minister," Gin said. "I'd prefer to have full access to my files when we meet. And as well, I've been asked by the Primarch to take care of the needs of our new Minister for Finance." She gestured to the short Ferengi woman. "May I introduce you to Minister Nilka."

"A pleasure to meet you, Minister," Unaran said, offering his hand to the Ferengi woman. But there was none of the same warmth in his voice that was present when he spoke to Gin. "I am Kabor Unaran, and as Minister for Foreign Affairs and Diplomacy, I look forward to working with you in the future."

"Likewise, Minister," Nilka said, shaking the looming Cardassian's grey hand.

"Minister Unaran," Gin continued, "Primarch Damar has asked me to help Minister Nilka get settled into her quarters aboard the Ronak. Could you tell me where Telor is? I would like to introduce him to the Minister."

"He's already aboard," Unaran said. "Amaro felt it was best for him to wait on the ship and... keep out of trouble, I believe the term was. Both Amaro and Garak have returned to their quarters on the station to finish packing."

"Thank you, Minister. I hope we'll see you during the trip back to Cardassia."

He gave her a small bow and then set off down the corridor, back towards the Cardassian rooms on the station. Nilka watched him go.

"He seems to like you," the Ferengi offered helpfully.

Gin sighed, and led the way into the ship. If _one_ more person pointed out the blatantly obvious to her, she might just scream!

As they passed through the ship, they were both subjected to the surprised glances of the Ronak crew. It was entirely possible that they hadn't been advised to expect a Ferengi passenger, and her suspicion grew when the captain himself, a grey-haired man named Porel Madar, approached her from the fore of the ship with a face like thunder.

"Ambassador, what is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

"Captain Madar," she said calmly, standing a little straighter and wishing she could match even the shortest of Cardassians for height, "this is Minister Nilka, who is the new..."

"I'm not talking about the Ferengi," Madar scowled, dismissing Nilka from the conversation as if she didn't even exist. "I'm talking about your thirty crates of merchandise! This is a war ship, not a cargo ship. You did not ask to use my ship's hold before having cargo transported into it!"

"My most sincere apologies, Captain," Gin replied. "With preparing for the summit, it must have slipped my mind. Of course, you will be properly remunerated for this inconvenience."

"I have no interest in money."

"I wasn't going to offer money," she smiled. "Tell me, do you like kanar?"

"Of course," he grunted. "What Cardassian _doesn't_?"

"Then I will give you five bottles of the twenty-nine vintage, in payment for your ship's services."

"Nonsense. There's not a single bottle of kanar left on Cardassia."

"Not now," she admitted with a casual shrug. "But when we return, there will be three hundred bottles on Cardassia, and the first five of them will be yours."

"I see," he said, his grey, scaled face taking on a suddenly thoughtful cast.

"In a few years, those bottles - the only pre-war bottles of kanar in the entire quadrant, will be worth a fortune. Of course," she said with a sigh, "I completely understand if transporting my cargo is too much of an inconvenience for your crew. Please, allow me to arrange alternative transport on a cargo ship bound for Cardassia... mere merchants will be much happier with simple latinum."

"That won't be necessary, Ambassador," Madar said after a moment. "Your cargo is already aboard, so it might as well stay there. But I'll expect my five bottles before it leaves my ship."

"Of course, Captain," she replied, making it sound as if that had never been in question. "You may have your pick of the crop as soon as we are back on Cardassian soil."

The tall man nodded tersely, then continued on his way without a backwards glance. Nilka gave Gin an appreciative smile.

"That was very well handled, Ambassador," she said. "Tell me something. I've found that men are usually simple creatures, whose needs are easy to anticipate, whose demands are obvious and negotiable. Is it the same for Cardassian men, as it is for Ferengi men?"

"Some of them," she confirmed, and continued down the length of the ship to the living quarters. "But I think that people are the same wherever you go. Most of them are quite straightforward in their needs and their demands. But a few are harder to handle, can't be bought with items, and won't always behave as expected."

"Like the Primarch?" Nilka asked.

"Yes," she agreed, with a small smile. "Just when I think I finally understand how he thinks, and what he's planning, he does something completely different. But I can't deny that his methods are successful."

"Hmm. Men who can't be bought, who obey only their own whims, are the trickiest to handle," Nilka said thoughtfully. "Luckily, you have me here to help you now."

"I think you misunderstand, Minister," she replied. "It's not my place to 'handle' the Primarch. I advise him, and offer him options where necessary, but as a Federation Ambassador, I can't be responsible for trying to force him into certain actions. The Cardassian Union has to develop naturally, with as little interference from me as possible."

"Heh. As you say, Ambassador," Nilka winked.

Gin rolled her eyes and stopped outside the door to Telor's quarters aboard the ship. She activated the chime and waited patiently for the boy to open the door. When he did, his eyes widened a little at the sight of Nilka.

"Telor Rokann, please meet Minister Nilka," Gin said.

"Now, what's a handsome young man like you doing on a ship full of grumpy Cardassian men?"

"I'm here as part of the delegation," Telor said, raising his chin defiantly. Then, he seemed to remember his manners. "Er, Minister."

"Telor's father is the Minister for Health," Gin said to Nilka. "Telor is here as Damar's personal assistant.

"I see," Nilka said.

"You're Ferengi, aren't you?" Telor asked.

"That's right."

"Gin's told me a bit about your people. Is it true that you have to pre-chew food for men?"

"I suppose it would look like that, to an outsider," Nilka said.

"Well... if there's anything I can do to make you more comfortable during your stay, please let me know," Telor said. Gin gave him a smile.

"Thank you very much, Telor, I'll keep that in mind," Nilka said. "Now, where should I put my bags?"

o - o - o - o - o

Walking through the corridors of Terok Nor—no, he corrected himself, Deep Space Nine—Damar ignored the glances of the Bajorans he passed. Their opinions were irrelevant to him; if they had a problem seeing a Cardassian, it was their problem, not his. One time, their stares would have made him uncomfortable, even angry. For a long time he had hated their pale, fleshy faces, which to him symbolised defiance and anarchy; everything that was antithetical to the Cardassian way of life.

Then, he had been forced to rely on the advice of a Bajoran, and accept her offer of help in order to free his people. It had been a bitter pill to swallow, but he'd managed it by looking to the bigger picture. And in doing so, he'd realised something. He didn't hate Bajorans after all. What he'd hated was their reluctance to bow to a superior force. A superior race. But in defying the Dominion, that is exactly what he had been doing. And yet... he hadn't hated himself for it. In fact, it had made him understand the Bajorans. He'd even learned to respect them and their abilities. What came so naturally to the Bajorans—defiance and freedom of expression—he had struggled to understand and embrace. And when he finally thought he had embraced it, he had died. The war had ended. Now he had to go back to restoring order, disowning the defiance and organised anarchy which had been his constant companions for several months.

Stepping into a turbo-lift, he said, 'Ops', and the lift began its ascent to the upper-most area of the central core. As it ascended, he mused over everything he had seen during the past three days. He'd thought it would be difficult, seeing the station once more in Bajoran and Federation control. But it hadn't been that way. Walking down the promenade, he'd gotten used to seeing all sorts of aliens on the station, and their presence no longer rankled him as it once would have. Somewhere, between becoming a rebel and becoming the leader of Cardassia, he'd learnt tolerance and acceptance. He wasn't sure exactly when it had happened, but he knew who he had to thank for it, and it was a thanks long overdue.

When he reached Ops, there were a few seconds when nobody noticed him, and he was able to observe everything that was happening. Starfleet and Bajoran personnel were working at their stations, their concentration focused on their computer terminals. Their faces were myriad colours, quite different to the view he'd had just over a year ago, of stony-grey Cardassian and Jem'Hadar faces, interspersed with an occasional Vorta. A thought struck him, then; one day, would Cardassian faces join those working at these stations? Did he even want them to?

"Can I help you, sir?" a young Bajoran officer asked him, glancing up to where he stood in the turbo-lift. Her face was a practised mask of patience and tolerance; if she hated him at all for who or what he was, he couldn't see it in her eyes. She was young, too; probably young enough to have been no more than Telor's age, when the Cardassian occupation of Bajor had ended.

"I'd like to speak to Colonel Kira," he replied, certain that the Bajoran leader of the station would make time to see him. Not because she respected him, or even liked him, but because they had been through a lot together, and now was the right time to speak of it. To say the things he had been unable to say before now.

The young woman consulted her comm panel, and then nodded, looking up once more to where Damar stood. "You may enter the Colonel's office," she said, and gestured to the commander's room.

"Thank you," he said, and left her to her work. He walked around the outside of the operations centre, where he had more than once worked tirelessly to pursue his peoples' interests. Now, his peoples' interests lay elsewhere. Not in domination, but in survival. The old ways wouldn't work anymore. That much was more than obvious to him. His Cardassia was dead, and he had died along with it. But somehow, for some reason, he had been reborn to make a new Cardassia. And even though part of him complained about having to concede territory to his former enemies, a greater part of him knew that it was Cardassia Prime itself that needed his full attention. Yes, the Federation was great and mighty, but at its heart lay one planet; Earth. So it needed to be with Cardassia. Cardassia needed to be to the Union what Earth was to the Federation. A place of relative peace and great strength. A place where solid foundations could be built.

When he reached the Colonel's office, he activated the door chime, and stepped inside when he was invited in. Colonel Kira, sitting behind the large dark desk, stood when he entered, her lithe body folding itself out of the seat. Damar's predecessor, his friend and mentor, Gul Dukat, had obsessed over the slim, red-haired Bajoran woman. He'd seemed to want, to _need_, her respect and adoration, as if taming her fiery temper was the greatest accolade he could achieve. Damar had never understood Dukat's interest in Bajoran women. They were too pale, their skin too soft, their tempers too hot and defiant. There was nothing about them that was attractive to him, and so Dukat's infatuation remained a mystery. He had, however, come to respect Kira's abilities, and even like her personality. She was doggedly determined to do things her own way, and though at one time he would have found that irritating, he now found himself something of a kindred spirit. She'd been where he now had to go, she had survived, and come out stronger. She was a formidable woman regardless of her species.

"I was hoping we'd get a chance to talk in private before you left," Kira said, gesturing for him to take a seat as she resumed hers.

Damar sat, his eyes falling immediately to a small white-grey ball which sat at the front of the table, like a small idol to be worshipped. It had once belonged to Captain Benjamin Sisko, the man who had been Emissary to the Bajorans, sent by the Prophets to guide them. And, if rumours could be believed, now returned to them. It was a topic too tantalising for him to pass up.

"Have you heard anything?" he asked, nodding to the small, greying ball.

Kira gave a small, sad smile, and leant back in her chair, her earring jingling musically for a moment. "No. But it's only been a few months, and the Prophets have no concept of time. I keep expecting him to appear at any moment, to come walking in through that door, smiling and telling me that I've gotten too used to sitting in this chair. But I know it won't happen like that. It would be too easy. Too neat."

"And Odo? Have you heard anything from him?" he asked, genuinely interested. The Bajoran's relationship with the Changeling had been... odd. They had loved each other deeply, despite their great differences. In the end, Kira had let Odo go, knowing that she would probably never see him again. It was a great and terrible sacrifice to make, and it increased his respect for her.

"You know the answer to that, Damar," she said, subjecting him to a knowing gaze. "And you didn't come here to talk about Odo. Or Captain Sisko."

He nodded. Of course, she saw right through him. She'd always been able to do that. And she was now one of the few people who saw a man instead of a hero. It was growing increasingly difficult to find people who would stand their ground when he made a suggestion that they didn't like. Most people capitulated before the saviour of Cardassia. Most people deferred to his judgement; he was a hero. He had to know best.

"I came to thank you," he said. "For everything you did for me. For my people."

She looked at him for a long minute, weighing him up with her brown eyes. Once, such a sustained, calculating look from her would have roused his anger. Now, he simply wondered what she saw.

"I didn't do it for you," she said at last. "Or your people."

"I know. But there were times when I was ready to give up, and you were the one who kept us going. There were times when you could have gloated, could have rubbed in your superior knowledge and the fact that I needed a Bajoran woman to help me free my people. But you didn't. You didn't ask for special treatment, and you didn't give it. You treated everybody as an equal. Even Garak. Even me. After the things I've done, I didn't deserve that."

Kira looked down at her hands for a moment, considering her words, and Damar waited patiently. This was something they had not talked about before, not even during the resistance. It would have been a barrier, then, but now it was something that could be discussed openly. Now, he _had_ to discuss it, to get it all off his chest.

"There's not a day goes by when I don't miss Ziyal," Kira said at last, looking up at him. "And for a long time, I hated you for killing her. I can't tell you how many times I considered revenge. How many times, during that resistance, I could have let you die, just by sitting back and doing nothing. Ziyal did not deserve to die. She spent a large part of her youth in a prison camp, and the rest of it being mistrusted by Bajorans and Cardassians alike. But I knew Ziyal better than anybody else, and I know that she wouldn't want me to let my hatred rule me. She was a compassionate soul, incapable of hatred. The man who killed Ziyal has been punished beyond belief for his actions, and when he died, so did his crimes. Now, you have a chance to make some good come out of all of this sorrow. Don't waste that chance."

"I'm trying," he assured her. "It's not easy, being the leader of a planet. I didn't ask for it, and it's not something I wanted when I started the rebellion. I just wanted to free my people. Now, they look at me like I'm some sort of hero. They don't understand that I got almost a billion of them killed."

"But you saved the rest. That's what they _do_ understand."

He nodded. She wasn't speaking to him as a former rebel... she'd put aside that aspect now, and had taken up the mantle of respected Colonel once more. She was speaking to him, one leader to another, putting up a barrier, a defensive shield between them. 'Here is where I draw the line,' she had said. 'We can discuss the past, but we can't go back to it.' It was a bitter disappointment. He'd been hoping to speak to somebody who wouldn't see him as a leader, and attempt diplomacy around him, but that's what he was now getting, and he knew why. Whatever moments of camaraderie they had shared, were now gone. When she'd helped the rebellion, she'd been doing her job. She had already turned down one such opportunity, offered to her by Gul Dukat when he'd captured a Klingon bird of prey, and she'd only assented to fighting again because she was under orders from her superior officers. Now that she was back on Deep Space Nine, she had no reason to be the rebel any longer.

"Thank you for seeing me, Colonel," he said, standing. She copied him. "I have to set off back to Cardassia now, but I hope we'll see each other again in the future."

"I hope so too, Primarch," she said, her tone all official formality. "Can I escort you down to your ship?"

"No, I'd... like to be alone. But I appreciate the offer." He turned towards the door.

"Damar."

When she called his name, he stopped and looked back at her.

"You may want to be alone, but alone isn't always the best way to be."

"I'll keep that in mind," he assured her, and left her office.

The walk back to his ship was a quiet one, and he encountered only a few other people along the way, none of them familiar to him. As he walked, he chastised himself. What had he been expecting from her? That she would welcome him with open arms? That she would be angered by his bringing up of the sensitive subject of his murdering of Ziyal? He wasn't sure which he would have preferred, but either would have been better than the measured neutrality she had offered him. He'd thought that she, at least, would know that she did not have to treat him like a visiting dignitary.

Once he was aboard, he went straight to his quarters and sent a message to the captain of the Ronak that he was ready to leave once everybody else was present, but that for the time being, he didn't want to be disturbed. He had too much to think about, too many things to go over in his mind. What he really wanted was the oblivion of sleep, to be able to put it all aside for a short while, but he didn't have that luxury. His people needed him. Without him, the council would only end up ruining things.


End file.
